


Haunt You Every Day

by Moriartys_Minion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac!Stiles, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Pack Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartys_Minion/pseuds/Moriartys_Minion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time senior year starts the Pack has faced their fair share of enemies, come together as a family and some have even found love. Too bad Stiles can't remember any of it. Now it's up to the Pack to help their fallen member recover his memories or risk losing Stiles completely. SLASH. PACK FIC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Both Reached For The Gun

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to send some love to Boy On String. We talk a lot about inspiration so I think it's only fair to give some credit to you. Without your phenomenal stories I don't think I would have ever been so willing to dive head first into a new fandom. There's no better way to inspire than by setting an example to follow. So thank you for inspiring me :)
> 
> Also the chapter titles will all be from songs. Notable only to my FF.net readers who know how committed I am to my word play and will be shocked to know I'm trying something new LOL. Fans of the musical "Chicago" should easily recognize the origin of this chapter title.
> 
> Enjoy!

The Beacon Hill Diner was the only 24-hour restaurant in town and was easily the most rundown. The booth Stiles was nervously bouncing in had holes in the seat cushions and coffee stains on the tables that were older than any of its patrons. The bathroom always smelled like a dull combination of cigarettes and cheap pine-scented air fresheners. Granted there were other, worse smells that it could be known for. Despite the fact that the ancient diner was nothing to write home about Stiles had always had a soft spot for it.

 

Some of Stiles’ best memories of his mother had taken place in the diner. Every Friday afternoon she’d pick him up from school and they’d head straight for the decrepit restaurant. They’d take the corner booth and order banana walnut milkshakes. Stiles would prattle on about his week – usually his antics with Scott – and his mother would sip her milkshake and just listen.

 

It was their secret place. Something special for just the two of them to bond over. All these years later and Stiles still hadn’t told his father about the weekly snack. Not that the Sheriff would have minded the sugary treat. In fact he probably would have joined his family just to get a milkshake for himself. Even back then the man had made poor dietary decisions.

 

After his mom died Stiles had a tough time keeping the tradition alive. Scott had only put up with spending Friday night at the rundown diner until they hit eighth grade. After that the bowling alley or the movies were the hot spot for kids their age. Fortunately for Stiles, his father’s job had the oddest hours ever. Which is why, every Friday night at midnight –when the lawman’s shift ended – Stiles and his father met at the Beacon Hill Diner for a _very_ late dinner course.

 

A dinner date that the Sheriff was already 20 minutes late for.

 

Stiles drowned a fistful of fries into his banana walnut milkshake before shoving the entire dripping mess into his mouth. He moaned loudly at the orgasmic blend of salty and sweet assaulting his taste buds. While his tongue eagerly lapped up the ice cream that had landed on his wrist and arm, his eyes checked the time on his wristwatch.

 

22 minutes late.

 

Stiles started to feel his panic creep up. Not for the first time he wondered if regular kids – ones who didn’t have a cop for a parent – worried over tardiness. Stiles wondered if he was doubly paranoid because he’d already lost one parent. Logically he knew it was true but this was a special kind of panic. One that not even logic could appease. No, he needed to see his dad walk into the diner to put that particular monster back under the bed where it belonged.

 

“I’m sure he’s just finishing up at the office,” the waitress comforted him, dropping off his second order of milkshake.

 

Stiles grinned up at her in thanks, beads of ice cream leaking out of the corner of his mouth. He wiped them away and shouted a quick apology to her retreating form for apparently grossing her out and scaring her away. The middle-aged waitress waved a hand over her shoulder, the offense already forgotten. Stiles had eaten at the diner one too many times for her to be effected by the mess. Now if only he could remember her name…

 

The bell above the door let out a short jingle. Stiles’ eyes whipped over to focus on the entrance. He remembered to swallow his mouthful this time before smiling at his father. The Sheriff eyed him warily as he made his approach, folding his uniform jacket over his arm.

 

“I’d ask if cavemen raised you but I wouldn’t want to insult myself,” the Sheriff joked as he slid into the long booth seat across from his son. “Please tell me you won’t eat like this at college?”

 

The waitress was back and pouring the lawman his usual coffee order. “Already applying for colleges? Seems like just yesterday you were starting at the high school.”

 

“The applications went out last month,” The Sheriff informed her proudly. “Now we just have to sit back and wait for the acceptance letters to pour in.”

 

“You mean rejection letters,” Stiles muttered into his straw.

 

The waitress gave his arm a quick squeeze with her non-coffee carrying hand. “You’ll get in somewhere good. I’m sure of it.”

 

Stiles tunes them both out. The last thing he wants to talk about is college. It’s been the dark cloud hanging over Stiles and his friends since the beginning of the year. For the rest of his classmates it’s an exciting time as they eagerly plot their escapes into new lives far, far away from their parents.

 

It’s not that simple for The Pack.

 

Stiles doesn’t notice how much time passes as he gets caught up in his own dark musings about college. It seems like seconds before the Waitress is sliding a hot plate under his nose. Stiles doesn’t even recall his father putting an order in. He jumps, startled at the sudden appearance of the food, and his elbow ends up in the little container of ketchup that comes with his fresh order of fries. The sheepish look he offers his father does nothing to stop the older man’s teasing.

 

They settle into a familiar rhythm as they eat. Stiles keeps the salt on his side of the table so that his father can’t take it. The Sheriff quizzes him about classes. Stiles leverages embarrassing stories about his friends for information on whatever case his father is working on. His dad laughs at the prank Danny and Stiles played on Scott and Jackson that landed all of them in detention for the rest of the week. No one ever told the boys that beta wolves didn’t react well to being doused in animal pheromones. Part of their penitence had been fixing the damaged lockers and benches in the locker room. His father tactfully avoids asking about Derek and his son’s relationship.

 

Both Stilinski men use generic code words to talk about Pack business, not wanting anyone to overhear anything that could jeopardize the safety of the group. Even a year after including the Sheriff in on the big secret Stiles still hasn’t gotten used to the fact that his father is totally chill about discussing werewolves. The teenager only wished his father understood the pack dynamics to not get flushed and embarrassed whenever he walked in on a puppy pile. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that the combined body heat, especially with the walking furnaces that were werewolves, was just too much to cuddle fully clothed.

 

By the time their waitress – whose name Stiles still can’t remember – is taking their bare plates away they’ve tackled all the usual subjects. Stiles feels bloated from all of the greasy food but refuses to blame the milkshakes. The minute his father starts lecturing him about lactose intolerance Stiles puts his fingers in his ears. He raises his voice so that his babbles about how bananas – even in milkshakes – are good for him, overpowers the Sheriff’s argument.

 

His father rolls his eyes before pointing behind Stiles’ head. The only thing at the rear of the diner is the bathroom so Stiles doesn’t bother to look for what the man is indicating. He refuses to take his fingers out of his ears until the Sheriff has vacated the booth. Stiles slowly drops the appendages, his arm muscles tense in case the bathroom is just a ruse to get him to lower his guard. By the time his palms reach the tabletop Stiles is satisfied that the Sheriff really did have to go to the bathroom.

 

The bells jingle again to announce new customers.

 

Stiles lazily glances at the door and isn’t impressed with the newcomer. The man’s jeans are covered in holes – not the kind made by designers – and the heavy sweatshirt isn’t even close to being the right size for such a thin frame. The baseball cap is dirty and the lighter colors have turned yellow from sweat. The man can’t be more than a few years younger than his father. Though the salt and pepper colored beard might suggest otherwise.

 

The waitress is unfazed though. She tells him to take a seat wherever and motions to the empty diner. The man’s eyes track her hand movement, sweeping over the vacant booths. His gaze pauses briefly at Stiles’ table so the teenager holds up a fry in greeting. The man doesn’t acknowledge him back.

 

“Something wrong, sweetie?” the waitress asks, cocking her head to the side.

 

The man wets his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue. Stiles recognizes the action. It’s the same thing he does when he’s nervous. Before a pop quiz Stiles has been known to lick and gnaw on his own lips until they’re practically raw. That uneasy paranoia has settled in Stiles’ gut for the second time that night.

 

The gun is out before he can voice his concerns. Not that there had been an appropriate warning to give the waitress. Stiles wasn’t Spiderman. No one would have reacted if he had announced to the diner that his super special spidey-senses had been tingling. Well… they would have but just not in the way Stiles would have wanted. More likely they’d have called men in white lab coats to take him away.

 

“Give me all the cash in the register! Now!” the man orders, moving the gun with each overly annunciated word. Stiles knows it’s meant to be commanding but the robber’s voice is hoarse and strained from lack of use. Even from the nearby booth Stiles has to struggle to hear the words. He doubts the cook in the back can hear what was going on over the hissing of the water and the hum of the refrigerator.

 

The waitress hears the order perfectly. Little mascara-darkened tear tracks slide down her puffy cheeks as she rushes to open the cash register. Her hands are shaking so badly that she misses getting the key in the lock several times. The man with the gun keeps looking between her clumsy actions and Stiles in his booth. Forget growing up with a parent in law enforcement, Stiles has seen enough TV to know to keep both of his hands _way_ above his head.

 

 _No threat here, buddy,_ Stiles tries to telepathically communicate.

 

All he wants is for the man to leave before his Dad comes out of the bathroom. It was one thing to worry about his father being the Sheriff but it was quite another to watch the man participate in a live stand off. No, Stiles is whole-heartedly hoping that the homeless man gets his money and runs. Preferably somewhere far, far away.

 

The universe apparently disagrees. They all hear the sound of the toilet flushing. At this point Stiles isn’t feeling butterflies in his stomach so much as full-grown bats feasting on his intestines. The waitress is shoving money into a take-out bag as fast as she can. He makes eye contact with her and tries to communicate his thanks for helping to get the gunman out of the diner as fast as possible.

 

“Who is that?” the hoarse voice asks suspiciously. The gun hesitates as the barrel trains on the bathroom door.

 

“Just another regular customer,” Stiles answers quickly. He’s happy that the stranger isn’t a werewolf because his heart definitely skipped a beat from that whopper of a lie.

 

The man jumps at hearing Stiles’ voice for the first time. The teen can’t decide whether it’s a good thing or not that the man is just as nervous as the rest of them. The way the gun keeps wavering has Stiles leaning towards the negative column. An amateur was even more dangerous than a professional armed robber. At least the experienced thief wouldn’t accidentally shoot the innocent witnesses.

 

The hand dryer starts in the bathroom and all three of them jump. Stiles sends a silent prayer to any deity that happened to be listening, thanking them for blessing his father with a cleanliness that had apparently skipped a generation. Anything to keep his dad in that bathroom. The last thing they needed was for a nervous gunman to spot his father, dressed in his police uniform, walk out of the restroom. The man was just jumpy enough to shoot on instinct.

 

“Hurry up,” the man snapped, already reaching for the plastic bag packed with money.

 

Stiles waited for the man to check over his goods before shifting in his seat. It was just his lower body so hopefully the gunman wouldn’t notice. His legs were angled at the booth opening. Stiles did his best to keep his top half in the exact same position. He wanted to be free to move if something went south.

 

 _Maybe Derek including humans in Pack training sessions wasn’t a stupid idea after all_ , Stiles thought randomly. _Though I still wouldn’t admit it to him. Freaking Alphas and their massive egos._

 

“Please just take it and go,” the waitress begged, her mascara running heavily now. “That’s all we have. I swear.”

 

The gun trained on her and Stiles held his breath. There was no reason to shoot. It was only a dozen or so steps to the front door. He and his ill-gotten goods could be off into the night in an instant. But news reports were filled with accounts of witnesses who were killed for no logical reason.

 

Slowly the man lowered the gun. Stiles let out the breath he’d been holding. Everything was going to be fine. The relief was evident in the waitress’ posture. Stiles was even surprised to see a flicker of relief in the gunman. The teen was willing to bet that this might well be the man’s first robbery.

 

The gunman took one step back. Then two. The gun was moving between Stiles and the waitress just in case. Stiles tried to listen to the man’s instructions but he just kept counting down the number of feet until that damned gun was out of his life forever. At best he caught random comments about not leaving or calling the cops for ten minutes.

 

It was when the robber was only a few feet from the door that all hell broke loose.

 

The bathroom door opened wide. The Sheriff had a smile on his face and Stiles’ name on his lips. It didn’t take him more then a second to take in the panicked look on his only child’s face before he was looking around the diner. Stiles could see the moment his father spotted the danger. Stiles watched his face shut down and his eyes narrow on the gun.

 

There was a deafening pop as the gun went off and Stiles watched his world fall apart.

 

“Dad!”

 

The wall next to the Sheriff received a brand new hole. A white dust cloud erupted out of the ugly puncture. The waitress shrieked and dived behind the counter. Stiles watched, his heart pounding, as his father ducked behind the nearest booth.

 

The gunman aimed again and a second hole – this time _much_ closer to the Sheriff’s hiding spot – slammed into existence.

 

Whatever fight or flight response had been turned on inside the robber’s head had clearly fallen on the fight response. The man was no longer looking to run for it. Instead he was stalking further into the diner, closer to the Sheriff. His face was set, determined to see the action through. The Sheriff was a threat he clearly meant to resolve. Stiles felt his own instincts kick into gear.

 

There may have been a time – some point before Scott had been bitten and turned into a werewolf – where Stiles would have chosen flight. Even then he wanted nothing more then to be able to climb under his booth and hide. But that wasn’t why he’d trained with Derek and the Pack all of these years. He wasn’t someone who ran. Stiles was a fighter now.

 

It was almost too easy to launch himself out of the booth.

 

Stiles felt his training click into place. Derek had taught him how to use momentum to his advantage. Lacrosse had given him the strength necessary to complete the maneuver. Stiles pushed off the seat with his feet and charged between the tables. In the back of his mind he heard his father shouting his name. Stiles couldn’t focus on the fear in his father’s voice. He had to focus on neutralizing the threat like Derek had taught him. He wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

 

The gun was still turning in his direction when Stiles tackled the robber. The gunfire was near deafening at that close of a range. His hands burned from where they gripped the hot metal of the gun. The man beneath him was shouting hoarsely as they fought for control of the weapon. Stiles used his bony knees to inflict as much pain as possible.

 

He felt a presence behind him a second before his father was helping him wrestle the man into submission. Between their combined efforts the gun was clattering across the cheap linoleum floor. Stiles’ ears were still buzzing from the sound of the gun but he swore he could hear the sound of the cuffs sliding into place. The gunman was weeping and moaning incoherently into the sticky floor.

 

Stiles might have felt bad for the man if he wasn’t so dizzy. He’d never felt so exhausted in his life, not even after one of Derek’s more punishing training sessions. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled learning about adrenalin in his freshman biology class. Stiles supposed he was just feeling the side effects of using so much adrenalin in such a short amount of time.

 

But that didn’t explain the wetness he felt on his shirt. It didn’t tell him why the waitress was shoving towels at him and crying hysterically. It didn’t help him understand why his father was shouting into his walkie-talkie. The Sheriff’s eyes were red and a tear slipped down his cheek. His dad never cried. He was the Sheriff. He was superman… but better because he had a badge.

 

Stiles let his father prop him against the side of a barstool. He used the last of his strength to hold up the damp towels that were pressed to his side. They were stained red with what Stiles was starting to suspect was blood. The teen wondered where all the blood was coming from. The waitress rushed forward to push the towels back into position. He gasped at the slight pain from all the pressure but a second later it was gone. Soon all he could feel was the sudden cold of the diner.

 

 _When did they get an AC?_ Stiles wondered.

 

The Sheriff’s face loomed closer. “Son, can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. Help is on the way.” His voice dimmed at the lack of response but he continued with his reassurances anyway. Stiles hoped they would help his dad feel better.

 

Stiles knew he should be more concerned about the slowly blurring world around him. But even when injured his mind kept drifting to odd things that shouldn’t matter as much as they did. Like how he still couldn’t remember the name of the waitress who was being so nice to him. Or why his Dad was slamming the guy in handcuffs’ face into the floor until more red stuff was pouring out of the other man’s nose.

 

But what really bugged him was the mess he’d made at his table. In his rush to go all Chuck Norris on the robber he’d knocked over his dishes. The left over food had made a terrible collage of greasy mush on the floor. His mug had shattered and the glass was twinkling at him through the growing fog that was his vision. Stiles’ face scrunched up to show how saddened he was to see his banana walnut milkshake spreading across the linoleum floor.

 

 _Such a waste,_ he thought.

 

Then the world went dark.


	2. Somebody Told Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief warning about a quick HET scene in this chapter. I know, I know this is a M/M slash fic and there should be only penises and a distinct lack of vaginas. However, while the main pairing in this story is Stiles/Derek, this is still a PACK story. And since there are Het couples in the Pack there will be some Het scenes throughout the fic. Though I fully intend to have a lot more slash than het stuff. So if the thought of guys and girls playing together upsets you... well then you'll just have to skim those parts or evolve as a reader :)
> 
> This chapter title is from a song by The Killers. It's one of my favorites of theirs actually.

Lydia was the first to know about what had happened to Stiles. It wasn’t as if she kept tabs on the boy or anything. In fact, she’d only begun to appreciate his existence in the past two years. Before that he was nothing more than a talkative fly that Lydia had to occasionally bat away with her perfectly manicured nails. No, the only reason that Lydia was the first to know about her packmate was due to the obnoxious amount of time she spent at the Beacon Hills Hospital.

 

Most of her classmates would never have guessed that Lydia spent such late hours at the local healing center. Instead they pictured her getting free drinks with her fake ID or trying on expensive clothes at an appointment-only fashion boutique. Her classmates believed these lies because that was the way Lydia wanted it. And Lydia always got her way.

 

Only those in the Pack knew she spent more time at the hospital than the mall. There was the occasional student who stumbled across her while visiting sick relatives but Lydia had an excuse for that. Every senior needed to boost their list of extracurricular activities if they hoped to get into a decent college. What better excuse to give a fellow senior? Not that anyone would ever be so daring as to actually ask the popular red head why she spent all of her free time at a hospital.

 

It wasn’t as if Lydia had gotten comfortable with the place after spending months recovering there after being attacked by Peter Hale. It wasn’t as if she’d come to care about the doctors and nurses that had brought her back to life. It wasn’t as if Lydia Martin, of all self-obsessed people, had felt indebted. No it definitely wasn’t any of those things that had her volunteering every weekend there wasn’t a full moon.

 

Lydia hummed to herself as she held up the brightly colored medications she was slowly sorting away. Jackson hadn’t been able to distract her for more than a few hours before having to run off for his nighttime training with Derek. The patients were all asleep by now so Lydia had to find entertainment where she could. So she settled on picking a new nail polish by putting different pill colors against her fingernails for comparison.

 

She was used to making the best of these late night shifts. Just last weekend Lydia had hemmed her candy striper uniform into a lower cut, sexier outfit. Scott’s mom had tried to talk her out of it but Lydia was damned if she was going to work long hours and not feel good in what she was wearing. It wasn’t like she was hurting anyone. Well… some of the elderly male patients had had _slightly_ elevated blood pressure but that could have been unrelated.

 

“CODE BLUE!”

 

Lydia frowned at the clock that hung above her. It was way too late for a nurse to be shouting. It was especially odd to have a seasoned nurse like Scott’s mother being the one to break such a basic rule. It was even stranger for Lydia to pick up on the panicked heartbeat with her werewolf hearing.

 

In a flash Lydia was off her stool and following a flock of blue scrubs down the back hallways of the hospital. A code blue usually meant that it was a priority patient arriving such as a police officer or a fireman. Lydia focused her supernaturally powered hearing and could just make out the faint sirens in the distance. The ambulance was close… and it had a police escort. Multiple police cruisers from the sounds of it.

 

“Lydia?”

 

Strawberry hair swung through the air as Lydia turned to the voice. She’d been too focused on hearing things far away that she’d missed Melissa McCall approaching her. Lydia felt her gut tighten into knots at the look on the woman’s face. It had been Nurse McCall that had waited on her after the Alpha attack. It had been this same woman who had gotten her the after-school gig at the hospital. Never in all that time had she seen the woman look so scared.

 

“Is it the Sheriff?” Lydia asked in a rush, her brilliant mind connecting all of the dots in a flash. Who else warranted such a large police escort to the emergency center? Who else would have Scott’s mother so worried? “What happened to him?”

 

Melissa shook her head and tried to form the words. All that came out was a strangled sob. Lydia stepped back from the woman, unused to seeing so much emotion. She was even less comfortable with being the one who had to deal with those emotional breakdowns.

 

Melissa seemed to understand all of that as she brushed at the tears threatening to spill over her cheeks. She visibly gathered herself even going so far as to smile comfortingly at the teen girl. “It’s not the Sheriff, sweetheart. It might be best for you to go wait until they’ve finished wheeling him into surgery. I don’t know if you should see him like this…”

 

“See who like what?” Lydia asked, her tone getting snappy. She wasn’t used to being in the dark and the unexplainable tightness in her stomach was growing. “Who else besides the Sheriff would…”

 

Her voice trailed off. Lydia’s mind had reached the solution but she refused to give voice to it. She didn’t dare say it out loud where someone could confirm it for her. All her life Lydia had finished the equations first and had the teacher silently praise her for being the smartest, for figuring things out so quickly. This was one puzzle Lydia didn’t want praise for solving.

 

It didn’t matter what Lydia wanted though. Nurse McCall confirmed it by pulling her into a tight embrace. Lydia confirmed it in the way she clung to the older woman she’d avoided getting emotional with only minutes ago. The way the sharp pain travelled from her gut up to her heart was proof enough.

 

The women separated as the double doors swung open. There was a blur of blue scrubs as the hospital staff rushed to greet their new patient. A pair of EMT’s wheeled in a stretcher with an all too familiar figure. Lydia’s inner wolf stirred angrily as it recognized the blood of a fellow pack member.

 

Melissa McCall sprung into action and joined the mess of medical jargon being spewed around the tight corridor. It was a whirlwind of diagnoses and stats that just sounded like a blur to Lydia. Normally she prided herself on being able to keep up with the doctors and nurses but not this time. All Lydia took away from their rapid speaking were the panicked tones.

 

The closer Lydia got to the stretcher, the more she could see why they were concerned. Stiles had never looked so pale, so vulnerable. Lydia heard the irregular heart beat and knew what it meant. Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the blood drying on his baggy clothes. There was an oxygen mask strapped to his head forcing the precious gas in and out of his body.

 

What terrified her most was how still and silent her friend was. Stiles was always talking. The pack had learned early on that even if Stiles wasn’t speaking out loud there was always a running commentary in his head. It was why his hands wouldn’t stop gesticulating and his limbs never sat still for longer than a minute. It was as if the words were trying to escape his body through any passage open to them.

 

A Stiles not in motion was a Stiles without an internal monologue.

 

A Stiles with no inner dialogue was no Stiles at all.

 

Her pack without a Stiles wouldn’t be a pack for long.

 

~~DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A SCENE BREAK. DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A SCENE BREAK. DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A SCENE BREAK.~~

 

_Bzzzzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzzzz…_

 

“Wha?” Scott asked groggily. “Wha’s tha noise?”

 

Allison stirred in his arms where she’d been sleeping comfortably. “What noise?”

 

Scott blinked owlishly at her. “You don’t hear it? It’s so loud.”

 

_Bzzzzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzzzz…_

 

“Maybe it’s your werewolf hearing?” she suggested, yawning out the word werewolf so that it sounded as if it had twice the right number of syllables.

 

Scott felt a grin stretch across his face. His gaze was soft as he stared down at the most adorable woman he’d ever met. The fact that she could be so brilliant right after waking up made his awe of her grow tenfold. “You’re so smart. How’d I get such a smart girlfriend?”

 

Allison rolled her eyes. “What can I say? I’m a girl who doesn’t mind slumming it.”

 

“Hey!” Scott cried in mock outrage, moving his fingers down the slope of her naked form to tickle the soft flesh at her side. “That wasn’t very nice.”

 

Her high-pitched shrieks of laughter quickly filled the dark bedroom. Scott continued his teasing until Allison was left gasping for air. The werewolf flipped their positions so that he had better access to her bare, sensitive skin. The fact that it prevented Allison from escaping her torture was just an added bonus.

 

“Scott!” she rebuked him as soon as Scott’s nimble fingers stilled. “We’re too loud. They’ll hear us!”

 

He shook his head slowly. “Stiles is with his dad, Lydia’s got a shift at the hospital and the boys are training with Derek.” He chuckled against her lips. “We’re all alone tonight.”

 

“All alone in the Hale House? Whatever shall we do?” She mock-questioned. They’d already done plenty that night. It was a rare evening when the rebuilt home was unoccupied. Even if the Pack didn’t want to spend every waking (and sleeping) moment with each other, it was still difficult to find a time when one of the 7 packmates wasn’t at home.

 

Scott waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “We could do it in Lydia’s bed this time?”

 

Allison frowned back up at him. “If Danny could tell we’d been in his bed then I’m pretty sure Lydia could with all of her wolf-senses.” She paused as she thought it over before grinning mischievously. “But if we’re going to get caught we might as well do it in Derek’s bed. At least he’d kill us quick.”

 

“No way!” Scott answered, eyes widened in panicked. “It’s bad enough that Derek would kill us but smelling Stiles while making love to you is not my idea of romance.”

 

She chuckled. “You don’t like when I smell like Stiles?”

 

His eyes flashed jealously. “No. I like when you smell like me.”

 

“Like… now?” Allison asked lightly, wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders.

 

“Yeah,” Scott answered as he leaned down to sniff at her neck. “So good.”

 

Allison circled his waist with her legs in order to mirror her arms around his neck. Scott moved with her until their bodies were in alignment. They both sighed at the sensual positioning, their breaths mingling. Soft lips found one another, fusing together as tongues began to map the familiar ridges of their mouths. While Scott gripped her hips, Allison let her fingers drift. They followed the path of Scott’s spine until they reached the mounded flesh of his ass. She had never said it out loud but they both knew it was her favorite part of Scott’s body. Allison gave both cheeks a playful squeeze and pulled up on them, forcing Scott to hump up into her. She hungrily swallowed his answering moan at the same time as her body swallowed him.

 

_Bzzzzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzzzz… Bzzzzzzzzz…_

 

Scott groaned at the renewed interruption. He’d forgotten all about the noise that had woken him. Allison had a habit of distracting him that way. Stiles had often berated him for getting lost in his girlfriend. Though Scott had turned that around on his best friend as soon as Stiles had discovered how distracting Derek was to him.

 

“Already?” Allison asked misinterpreting his groan for one of pleasure. She quickly tried to cover her disappointment. “I mean… that’s okay, baby.”

 

“What?” Scott replied perplexed. He scowled as he realized what she meant. “No! I did not… I’m fine, okay?” He wiggled a bit to demonstrate, smirking when Allison moaned. “See? I just heard that stupid noise again.”

 

She gave his butt a firm slap in response. “Well hurry up and get rid of it then!”

 

Scott grumbled sleepily as he climbed off the bed. Allison sat up to get a better view of her boyfriend rummaging around the room without a stitch of clothing on. She wolf whistled whenever he bent over to search the floor. Scott gave her that trademark goofy grin as he pulled his phone out of his jeans. “Stupid vibrate.”

 

He flipped it closed and tossed it back onto the pile before taking a running leap at the bed. Allison giggled as he landed perfectly around her. She dropped the bed sheets so that he could climb in once more.

 

“Who was it?”

 

“Lydia,” Scott answered, kissing along her shoulder bone. “Just some missed calls.”

 

“Oh,” Allison thumbed at one of his darkened nipples. “Did she leave a message?”

 

Scott rolled his eyes. “Yeah but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to check it, you know?”

 

She nodded in agreement. They locked lips. She could feel that the cold night air had robbed Scott of his full erection. Allison decided it was her mission to see him returned to full vigor and set out to do just that. Unfortunately her mind kept turning back to the missed calls and messages from Lydia. There was an uneasy feeling in her gut.

 

“Did you check mine?” Allison asked, breaking away from their marathon kissing.

 

Scott gazed back at her, his face scrunched up in confusion. “What? Check your what?”

 

She pecked his nose, bemused. “My phone, love. Could you get mine?”

 

“Now?” the werewolf asked. “But we – we were gonna…”

 

“Please?”

 

He took one look at her and caved. It didn’t stop him from cursing under his breath as he once more braved the cold, frilly air. This time he snatched the top sheet and wrapped it around himself as a robe. Just because Scott was whipped by his girlfriend didn’t mean he couldn’t also be vengeful. Allison let out a squeak at the rush of night air before she pulled the comforter up over herself. Scott snatched her phone from the pile of clothes and tossed it on the bed before walking out into the hallway.

 

“Where are you going?” Allison called after him as she waited for the cell phone to finish powering on.

 

“To the shower!” He shouted back with a laugh. “If you’re going to chat with Lydia all night then I’m going to take care of this myself.”

 

Allison chuckled. “You couldn’t do that in here? I could have helped you. I do have _two_ hands remember?”

 

Scott poked his head back in the doorway. He looked skeptically at her as if waiting for a trap to spring. “Really?”

 

“Yeah just let me check my messages fir…” Allison trailed off as she saw the number of missed calls and text alerts pop up.

 

Scott perched on the edge of the bed. His ears took in Allison’s increased heartbeat. His eyes tracked her teeth as she worried at her bottom lip. He could smell the fear and worry wafting off of her. Scott was sure that if he, a Werewolf, could taste or touch a person’s concern than Allison would be lightning rod for it.

 

He crawled the rest of the way up the bed. “What’s wrong?”

 

She shushed him and started to play the first message. In the still of the night Scott didn’t need his Werewolf abilities to hear the voicemail. The couple tensed at the uncharacteristic panic in Lydia’s voice. The message only infected them with the same panic. Within minutes they were scrambling for their clothes.

 

~~DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A SCENE BREAK. DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A SCENE BREAK. DON'T MIND ME I'M JUST A SCENE BREAK.~~

~~  
~~

Stiles had tried once to describe his panic attacks to Derek before. At the time the werewolf had thought he had understood what his mate had tried to convey. Now he knew better. Walking through the automatic doors of the hospital Derek was having his very own panic attack.

 

It felt as if weights had been attached to his hiking boots. Every step was a herculean task that his muscles struggled to accomplish. His lungs were facing a similar crisis. His breathing was shallow and pained. It was a complete contradiction to his heartbeat, which was pounding away in his chest.

 

Jackson and Danny flanked his sides, trying to sooth their Alpha with their presence. It had only been Danny crawling into the backseat with Derek that had kept him calm during the car ride there. Though how much of Derek’s panic was about Stiles and how much was about Jackson’s recklessly fast driving was still up for debate. The rich teen had pushed his sports car to the brink trying to reach the hospital.

 

The elevator was blessedly empty. As soon as the doors closed, Jackson and Danny were all over Derek. Jackson pulled his Alpha’s face into the crook of his neck and let him breath in the comforting scent of the Hale Pack. Danny may still have been human but he had plenty of ways to comfort his Alpha. The tan skinned teenager clung to the older man and whispered comforting words in his ear. Jackson followed his best friends lead and together they soothed the red tint from Derek’s eyes.

 

By the time the elevator doors opened on the ICU floor the three were standing apart as if nothing had happened. Derek stepped out of the elevators and led the way. He used his considerable muscled bulk to part the sea of wandering patients, nurses and doctors. From their flanking positions Jackson and Derek made all the apologies for their Alpha.

 

“Derek!”

 

The trio turned in time to find themselves being smothered to death by their female pack mates. The girls had fitted themselves into the thin space between Derek and the other two males. While Jackson and Danny hugged the girls, Derek took long whiffs of their scents.

 

“Where is he?” Derek growled into Allison’s neck.

 

“Still in surgery as far as we know,” she answered taking a cautious step back. Danny caught his fellow human pack member and steadied her.

 

Derek frowned at her reaction. Jackson and Danny had held their own against his mood during the car ride so Derek had assumed his features were in control. Now he’d gone and frightened Allison with his demeanor. Derek couldn’t bring himself to comfort the girl so he chose to ignore her and locked eyes with Lydia. He hoped that as a fellow wolf she might stand up to his glare better.

 

Lydia, as always, did not disappoint. She merely quirked an eyebrow at him before answering his question. “Scott’s mom is in there assisting with the surgery. She’s been passing us updates but we haven’t seen her in an hour or so.”

 

Derek felt his heart pump faster – if that was even possible at this point – before marching off down the hallway. He didn’t bother asking for permission. He ignored the calls of his pack, begging him to wait with them and not cause any trouble. It was of little concern to Derek if they didn’t want to help him. Derek could track Melissa McCall by scent if need be. But one way or another he was going to find Stiles and see him with his own eyes.

 

If the doctors couldn’t save him than the Bite could. It would have happened anyway. The robbery had only sped up Derek’s timetable.

 

The Alpha was almost to the double doors marked ‘RESTRICTED’ in large, red font when the smell assaulted him. It was so strong that Derek nearly doubled over at the scent. In an instant he’d lost Mrs. McCall’s scent in favor of the new one. It was Stiles’ scent but one that was more pure than he’d smelled before. There was a metallic tint to it.

 

It was Stiles’ blood.

 

Derek choked at the realization. He tracked the smell, charging forward blindly until he found the side corridor where chairs had been set up for family members. Derek could smell the presence of his pack there. Strong – as if they’d been there for a few hours. Only it wasn’t his whole pack that was sitting in the little lounge. Derek could sense that the others had stayed where he’d left them in the corridor.

 

Scott was there though. His eyes were tinged red. Not the scarlet coloring of an Alpha but the blotchy red of a distraught teenager. Derek could still see the wet tears that had pooled at the edges of his Beta’s eyes. He could smell the stains on Scott’s sleeves were he’d rushed to brush off the evidence. Scott’s brown eyes met his and Derek could feel his own grief echoed there. He went against his Alpha instincts and turned his gaze away first. He couldn’t afford to uncork his grief. Not then, not there. There was no telling how high the body count might climb.

 

Unfortunately for Derek, shifting his gaze only led him to the source of Stiles’ scent trail. The Sheriff was in the chair next to Scott. The older man was hunched over at an impossible angle. His face was buried in his wrinkled hands otherwise he would have noticed Derek sooner. It was only Scott’s sudden shift that had the lawman sitting up straight.

 

Derek took one look at the ruined police uniform and felt his world fall away. The brown jacket was caked in dried blood. In Stiles’ blood.

 

A traitorous whimper tore free from Derek’s throat. Scott’s eyes watered once more at the sound. Derek didn’t even struggle as the Beta flung himself into his arms. On instinct Derek’s arms encircled Scott’s form but even after regaining control Derek didn’t push him away. He let Scott stain his shirt with fresh tears and ignored the teenager’s incoherent murmurings into his chest. Derek’s mind was still on the Sheriff.

 

Stiles’ father shakily got to his feet. Derek’s supernaturally powered hearing informed him of every crack and groan of the man’s body. It was clear that this was the first time the Sheriff had gotten out of that chair since Stiles’ had been brought into the ER. Somehow that made Derek even more nervous than he was before.

 

“Hale,” the Sheriff greeted, his voice uneven. “I already put you on the family list. They’ll let us see him first if… _when_ he’s out of surgery.”

 

Derek nodded at him. “Thank you.”

 

The Sheriff shook his head. “Don’t thank me. It’s what Stiles would have wanted.” He rubbed at his face tiredly. “The only reason you’re here is to save his life. If they can’t… if he doesn’t…”

 

Derek’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline as he connected the dots the man didn’t seem capable of finishing. “I thought you didn’t want him to get the Bite? Didn’t want him to be part of my pack?”

 

The Sheriff grunted in frustration. “I don’t. I’ll never want that for him. But if it’s that or lose him entirely than I’ll take my deal with the Devil.” His eye twitched at the looks Derek and Scott were giving him. “Don’t act like you weren’t going to bite him this year. I know all about your yearly ritual. My son isn’t the only one who can do research.”

 

Scott pulled back from the embrace. “You knew?”

 

“No,” the Sheriff answered, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as a glimmer of his normal self slipped through his grief. “Not until you just confirmed it for me.”

 

Derek gave his Beta a small smack to the back of his head. Before he could properly reprimand him the double doors opened and Melissa McCall stepped through. One of his other Beta’s must have been keeping an ear out for her because suddenly Derek found himself surrounded by his pack.

 

Well… his pack minus Stiles.

 

“I see you all made it,” Melissa greeted them tiredly. She gave an extra smile to her son and then to Derek. “He’s been out of surgery for a little bit.”

 

“And you’re just telling us now?” the Sheriff interrupted angrily. “Melissa I thought you were going to update us!”

 

She held up a hand for quiet. “Just listen, okay?” The Pack heard her heartbeat start ticking nervously. “Stiles is out of surgery. The doctors were able to remove the bullet but it was a small caliber which makes it more complicated.”

 

“Why?” Jackson asked.

 

“Smaller bullets don’t exit the body safely,” Lydia answered in a clinical tone. Derek had the feeling she was reciting it from one of her medical textbooks. “They ricochet inside the body causing more damage.”

 

Melissa nodded solemnly. “They had to remove a large tract of intestines. He has enough good materials in there to not need a colostomy bag but Stiles will definitely not be feeding his appetite like he usually does. And he’ll have to eat healthier, too.”

 

Derek felt relief flood through him. “So he’ll be alright?”

 

“There’s more,” she hedged nervously. “He went without oxygen for some time before the ambulance could get to the Diner. There’s some concern on what that could do to him. We won’t know what the effects will be – if any – until he wakes up.”

 

“Wakes up?” Scott asked hollowly.

 

His mother couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “That’s why I waited so long to update you. He hasn’t woken from the anesthesia yet.” She sucked in a rush of air for the strength to get her words out clearly. “Stiles is in a coma. He won’t wake up until his body is ready to. It could be a few hours or days. We’ll know better once we’ve run more tests.”

 

Danny frowned. “Is that because of the lack of oxygen at the Diner?”

 

“Most likely, yes,” Mrs. McCall answered, nodding her head in acknowledgement of how quickly he pieced it together. “Usually three minutes is the maximum amount of time the brain can be without oxygen before any serious trauma occurs.”

 

“Trauma?” the Sheriff asked hoarsely. “What kind of trauma?”

 

The nurse shifted nervously as she felt the weight of their gazes. “In extreme cases parts of the brain begin to die. This can lead to paralysis, impaired cognitive function… brain death.”

 

Derek felt hands latching onto his arms, holding him back from charging towards the recovery ward. “You said three minutes was safe. How long was it for Stiles? How long did he go without oxygen?”

 

“Mom?” Scott pressed when she wouldn’t answer.

 

“It was more than three, honey,” Melissa answered quietly. “A lot more.”

 

The Sheriff swore loudly. “It doesn’t matter. Just sneak Derek in and he’ll bite Stiles. The doctors will say it’s a miracle and my son will come home.”

 

“No.” Derek felt himself shaking his head before he realized he was doing it. The Pack stared at him in shock, not understanding yet what terrible truth he’d realized. “I can’t give him the Bite yet.”

 

“What? Why?”

 

Derek looked at his mate’s father and tried to convey the pain he was feeling, tried to make him understand their shared desperation to have Stiles back. “It won’t heal him like that. The Bite doesn’t work that way.” Even behind his closed lids Derek could see the glow of his red eyes like a neon sign advertising his anger. “It’ll bring him back with whatever brain damage he might have just like it did with Peter. If Stiles’ mind isn’t in complete control than the wolf will take over and he’ll go rabid.”

 

Allison’s breathing hitched. Out of all of them she knew what Hunters did to rabid wolves. “They’ll hunt him. They’ll have to.”

 

“Or they’ll make us do it,” Derek agreed with a grimace.

 

Scott looked between his girlfriend and his Alpha. “So we wait?”

 

“Until he wakes up,” Derek answered with a tone of finality. He watched them mourn for the boy that might not be there when Stiles’ body decided to heal but Derek didn’t join them. In his heart he knew that his words of caution were a lie. He wasn’t going to let Stiles slip away and die. Damn the consequences. Derek didn’t give a shit about the Hunters or what kind of damaged state Stiles might be in.

 

He’d bite him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said the chapters would be posted on Tuesdays but I'm trying to catch you all up to where this story is on other sites. So you can expect two more updates this weekend as well as the first regular update on Tuesday night.
> 
> If you enjoyed the chapter than by all means please leave a comment below :)


	3. Fix You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the extended delay. Those who keep tabs on my tumblr (moriartysminion) know that my damaged laptop is holding the rest of the story hostage. This is the only story I didn’t have backed up on my desktop computer or at the very least a back up drive. Until I have the money to have it repaired this story will only have small “filler” updates like this one.
> 
> The title is from the Coldplay song.

Derek stared at Stiles with crimson eyes. He could smell where Nurse McCall had tucked the comatose form into the hospital bed. Derek didn’t need the beep of the heart monitor to tell him how calmly Stiles’ heart was beating. The whoosh of the machine pumping air into Stiles’ lungs taunted the Alpha. The sun was just threatening to make an appearance when Derek broke from his trance, the threat of discovery forcing his hand.

 

Not that Derek was afraid of the nursing staff. The wolf snorted with derision as he remembered how easy it had been to sneak into the hospital. There were times when he’d had to work harder to go unnoticed when sneaking into the Stilinski home than he did to break into the ICU. The nurses were all working double shifts and assumed the black blur that pulsed through the dark corridors were just tricks of their tired eyes. The ancient security guards were either sleeping or “on a break” in the bathroom.

 

None of that mattered anymore. It was no longer the humans who had to watch out for Stiles. Derek would keep his mate safe now. Once Stiles recovered from his Bite there would be nothing that could hurt them, nothing they couldn’t fight off. He’d already arranged a remote cabin for them in case Stiles woke up feral. Somewhere the Argents and other Hunters would never find them.

 

All Stiles needed was the Bite.

 

Derek fought off a wave of doubt. He tried to ignore the way his fingers trembled around Stiles’ limp arm as he lifted it off the bed. Derek let the Alpha within sooth his fears. For every fang that grew from his jaws Derek found his resolve strengthening. The instinct to claim, to mark, to grow his pack was strong. Nearly as strong as the one to make Stiles a _true_ mate. He was so consumed by instinct that he utterly failed to sense the other presence in the room.

 

Fortunately the cocking of the gun was impossible to ignore.

 

Sheriff Stilinski used his free hand to close the door behind him. His other hand trained the service weapon on him. Derek’s claws branched further out from his fingertips, his grip tightening around the limb possessively. He looked beyond the barrel to the determined eye of Stiles’ father.

 

“Put that arm down, Derek,” the Sheriff demanded. “Now.”

 

Derek flashed his fangs menacingly. “He’s mine.”

 

“Stiles was mine first,” the older man said in challenge, moving further into the room to add to his rebellion. “Did you know that he was born just a few floors down from here? I was the first one to hold him. His mother was too exhausted so the nurses gave him to me. I rocked him in my arms until he stopped crying.”

 

“That was then,” Derek answered dismissively as he dragged the arm closer to his mouth. “I’m the one that holds him now. You’re the one that let him get hurt.”

 

The Sheriff flinched. “I know I did. I should have done something, anything to keep him safe. Don’t you think I know that it’s my fault he’s in that bed?” The gun lifted slightly, the barrel aimed at Derek’s head instead of his chest. “That’s why I won’t let you do this now. I didn’t act before but I can now. I can protect him from you.”

 

Derek growled lowly at the implication. “I wouldn’t hurt him.”

 

“You said yourself what would happen if you bit him now,” the elder Stilinski replied evenly. “I know you think it will save him but it won’t be Stiles. Not really.”

 

“He’ll breath on his own. No machines.” The arm was so close that Derek could practically taste Stiles by scent alone. “We’ll run together. We’ll be Pack. True Mates.”

 

The Sheriff rolled his eyes with such natural vehemence that Derek wondered which Stilinski had taught the other one to do it first. “Will he tell jokes, Derek? Will he spend hours trying to explain why there are really only three Indiana Jones movies? Could he eat enough pizza and Chinese food to feed the whole Pack in one sitting?” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes while a nostalgic smile tugged at his lips. “Would he even need to steal your clothes and wear them to bed so that he smells like you in the morning? How about the others in the Pack? Would he even recognize them out of their wolf form? Could he still help Lydia study or play marriage counselor for Scott and Allison? Would he even care about lacrosse with Jackson and Danny?”

 

Derek tried to fight off the memories that the Sheriff conjured up. He could practically smell the garlic from the large pizza Stiles would eat by himself before turning to his container of shrimp fried rice. He could hear the grunts Stiles made as he pelted Danny with balls for goalie practice in the back yard. The Alpha in him remembered the feel of his own clothes as he groped for the bits of Stiles that made the younger boy writhe in pleasure.

 

“Don’t you see? He’d be a ghost of himself,” the Sheriff continued in a desperate whisper. “A daily reminder of everything we’d lost.”

 

“And this is better?” Derek returned bitterly. “He doesn’t haunt us like this?”

 

“There’s hope for something better this way,” the older man answered. “Maybe not a solution for forever but it’s only been a day. You have to give him a chance, Derek. He’s not weak. You know that.”

 

Derek felt his fangs sink back into his gums. He heard the faint sound of his claws retracting. It wasn’t until he gently returned Stiles’ frail limb to the bed that the Sheriff relaxed his grip on the gun. A moment of peace later and the click of the safety echoed through the room.

 

“How did you know?” Derek asked quietly, eyes locked on Stiles’ face. “That I’d be here tonight, I mean. None of the others knew.”

 

“None of the others know what it’s like to lose the one you love,” the Sheriff replied, matching Derek’s reverent quiet. “To be alone in the world with only one other person to miss you, to keep you from giving up completely.”

 

Images of Laura danced in the Alpha’s mind. “I’ll give it a month.”

 

The Sheriff nodded. “Than we’ll continue this conversation in a month.”

 

“No, we won’t,” Derek corrected him, red eyes glancing briefly in his direction. “Borrow all the weapons from Argent that you can carry. Bring the Pack as back up if you think they’ll help you… but it won’t matter.”

 

“Fair enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I can’t access the “real” chapters, I’m toying with the idea of showing little snippets of this month where Stiles is comatose. It’s better than nothing right? If I do decide to post more fillers they’ll be about the same length as this.
> 
> Feedback welcome :)


	4. You're My Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is from the very awesome song by Queen.

It wasn’t like floating for Stiles.

 

It wasn’t much like anything really.

 

There were no Angels walking him through pearly gates or hitting the ‘down’ button on an ominous looking elevator. No voice announced, “Stiles Stilinski, this is your life”. He didn’t turn invisible and get to stalk his friends as they cried over him. No Whoopi Goldberg types tried to reach him through a séance. He wasn’t granted Johnny Smith-esque powers to solve cases with his Dad… though even comatose Stiles still thinks that would make for a pretty kick ass TV show.

 

It was as if the whole world had evaporated and in that emptiness there were brief flashes of sensation. Like lightning flashes at night, temporarily illuminating the world only to return it to darkness a moment later. At any instant Stiles went from feeling the pain in his gut to being overwhelmed by the taste of banana walnut milkshakes.

 

If it wasn’t his senses burning than it was pain. He remembered tears on his cheek but not why he was upset. His muscles remembered being strained to exhaustion. Knife-like teeth drilled into his flesh before hitting deposits rich with pleasure.

 

Senses flared and pain blossomed, again and again.

 

But never in the same place, never from the same moment.

 

And sometimes – when Stiles got really lucky – words slipped through from familiar voices that helped sooth his discomfort.

 

*

 

Allison was hard pressed to think of a more heart breaking sight than watching Scott sitting silently next to Stiles. Scott’s fingers fidgeted where he’d placed them on his best friend’s bed as he tried not to touch. He looked terrified of disturbing what would have looked like a peaceful slumber if not for all the machines beeping and hissing. At the same time Scott appeared like he’d like nothing better than to shake his friend back into the waking world.

 

She didn’t bother trying to spy from the hallway. There was no point when a werewolf was involved. Even one as distraught as Scott could hear her heartbeat from outside Stiles’ hospital room or catch her scent the moment she stepped off the elevator. Scott’s gaze barely wavered from his best friend’s prone form when she entered. A slight twist of the lips was her only greeting.

 

“He looks better,” she lied. “A bit more color in the cheeks.”

 

Scott shrugged. “Heartbeat is the same.”

 

Allison didn’t know what to say so she stayed quiet. She settled for dragging the rocking chair that Mr. Stilinski usually slept in closer to both boys. Her father would have been proud of how patiently she waited for Scott to talk again. He’d been the one to teach her to hunt with a bow and arrow. He’d been the one to tell her how important it was to go so quiet, so still that your prey thought you were just another piece of nature. Allison simply watched Scott watch Stiles and waited.

 

“He breathes different now,” Scott continued quietly. “It’s so smooth. He never did that before. Even when he was sleeping he would start mumbling about comic books or food or Lydia or something. Mostly about Lydia. Used to drive me crazy when we were little. I could never sleep the whole night through. In the morning, after the sleepovers, he’d never believe me when I told him.” He let out a bitter chuckle. “He was so stubborn about it that I had to borrow my Mom’s tape recorder to get proof.”

 

“I bet he loved that,” she egged him on with a knowing smile.

 

Scott shook his head. “I forgot to put tape in it.”

 

Allison couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. She froze, unsure of how to fix her outburst only to sigh in relief when Scott started to laugh with her. But it wasn’t until he turned to face her that Allison saw the pain in those eyes. Her brief moment of relief died at the sight.

 

“He hasn’t mumbled at all since he’s been here,” Scott added quietly as if it wasn’t torturing him. “Not even once.”

 

Allison leaned forward so fast that she nearly slid off the chair. Both of her arms wrapped themselves around her boyfriend, pulling him close. Scott’s nose – as it always did – found its way to her neck and breathed deep. Allison listened to Scott mutter about how Stiles wouldn’t ramble about food or his mom or even Derek. She frowned as she realized that only one of his hands had wound around her waist.

 

The other stayed on the bed next to Stiles.

 

Scott clung tighter as she freed one of her hands. Allison whispered reassurances to the distraught wolf as she felt her way down his arm to his hand. Intertwining their fingers, Allison stretched until their combined palms settled over Stiles’ limp fingers. Scott’s weight tensed as he realized how intimately the three of them were joined but Allison merely held on tight until her boyfriend relaxed.

 

“Thanks,” Scott muttered, eyes meeting hers for the first time that afternoon with only a trace of sadness lingering. “I didn’t know if I should or not and…”

 

“…and boys are stupid,” Allison half-joked. “Even in a hospital you’re afraid of showing feelings.”

 

Scott’s lips twitched slightly. “I don’t remember you touching Lydia when she was the one in here.”

 

“That’s because you were never there when I gave her those super secret sponge baths,” she deadpanned. “Now that I think about it, it is kind of odd that you were the only one who missed all of those.”

 

Scott’s eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open.

 

Allison resisted the urge to smack her boyfriend. “I was kidding. Obviously.”

 

“I knew that!” he protested vehemently despite the tell tale blush that stained his cheeks. He squeezed the trio of hands tight and gave her a grateful smile. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”

 

“Always,” she promised.

 

Stiles slept on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was an additional section to this but I decided it worked better with one of Mrs. McCall's visits rather than with Scott's. Plus I wanted to post sooner rather than later if the chapter wasn't going to be long. Which it wasn't. 
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> I hate short chapters.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with the story even if we're just sort of treading water until I recover the original chapters!


	5. With A Little Help From My Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll just have to forgive me if the first half of this is more lighthearted than the tone of the fic so far. I needed a little breather from this fog of despair we've settled into. I swear this story won't always be so down trodden. In fact it actually gets quite humorous and fun... eventually.
> 
> Title is from The Beatles song... or Joe Cocker if you prefer the (arguably) more famous rendition ;)

Unlike the rest of his packmates Danny didn’t have any ill will towards hospitals. He hadn’t been in on the werewolf secret – or as Stiles called it “Beacon Hills’ Furry Little Problem” – when Lydia was in a coma. He hadn’t lost a parent in the hospital like Stiles had. Danny didn’t have an overworked and underpaid mother like Scott who might resent the place for it.

 

As Danny made his way to Stiles’ room he didn’t feel any of the melancholy that seemed to have infected the Hale Pack. In fact Danny was filled with hope for his awkward friend’s recovery and appreciation to the hospital that would help Stiles achieve it. Danny even offered the nurses his most charming smile, trying to balance out the glares he was sure Derek had been handing out like candy. Or free shoves into walls. That sounded more like the kind of thing Derek would give away.

 

If there was one thing Stiles had taught him and Allison it was that the humans in the Pack had to balance out the Werewolves. Sometimes that meant playing nice with the nursing staff since their Alpha wouldn’t be thanking anyone for doing their jobs. Other times it meant being silly to remind their half-human packmates how to maintain that human counterpart. This wasn’t a foreign responsibility for Danny. He’d been playing the nice guy to Jackson’s douche exterior since they were in middle school.

 

Unfortunately for Danny, visiting Stiles in the hospital fell into both of those roles.

 

“Are you sure we’re allowed in here?”

 

Danny glanced over his shoulder to glare at his best friend who had been griping about the visit since they’d left the school parking lot. “Everyone else has been visiting. Why shouldn’t we?”

 

“That’s because they’re friends with him,” Jackson argued. “And family.”

 

“Pack _is_ family. Don’t you listen to Derek at all?”

 

Jackson made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whine. “Not when he turns into a sappy-hippy and asks us all to love each other.”

 

Danny resisted the urge to smack the wolf. After the shock of Stiles’ incident had worn off Jackson had gone to his safe place. Unfortunately Jackson’s safe place was one where emotions and vulnerability didn’t exist which meant he’d been insufferable all week. Danny redirected his irritation and let his knuckles turn white as he tugged the door to Stiles’ room open a little harder than was necessary. “Are you coming in or not?”

 

The taller teen hesitated in the hallway, his gaze darting around for a convenient exit. “He wouldn’t want me to. We’re not… we’re not friends. Not really.”

 

“Congratulations you’ve now taken Scott’s place as the dumbest one in the Pack,” Danny muttered knowing just which buttons to push to make his friend forget his insecurities. Yet another little trick Stiles had taught him. Of course it was easier for the comatose teen since Scott was pretty much all emotion. Jackson was too but at least he thought with his brain as well.

 

“Shut up!” Jackson hissed, scandalized. His eyes flashed to reflect his hurt pride while Danny merely smiled victoriously. Poor Jackson didn’t even realize he’d crossed the threshold of the room to yell at his friend. The door swung shut behind him. “You’ve been hanging out with Stilinski too much. You never used to be this sarcastic.”

 

Danny settled into the rocking chair next to the bed. “You’re his friend too, Jacks, whether you want to admit it or not.”

 

“I’ll go with not, thanks.”

 

Danny rolled his eyes. “So I didn’t overhear you asking Coach to make him first line this year?”

 

Jackson paled, caught off guard by the secret he thought was safe even from his best friend. To his credit he rebounded quickly. “Well how else am I going to look good for college scouts if there isn’t a bad player around making even my mediocre moves look amazing?”

 

Danny was less than impressed. “If that’s true than why did you teach him your trademark pivot move over the summer? I’d know it anywhere. You wouldn’t even tell _me_ how to do it.”

 

“Did not,” Jackson continued stubbornly.

 

“Come on, just admit it. You knew how much it would mean to him to actually play this year,” Danny pressed. “You knew what it would mean to the Sheriff too.”

 

“Maybe I’m just racking up some karmic brownie points so I don’t go to hell?”

 

Danny snorted in amusement. “Nice phrase. Let me guess, Lydia use it on you?”

 

Jackson shivered at the memory of being verbally reamed out by his packmate. “I don’t know how she comes up with all those different ways to call me a dick without actually calling me one.”

 

“So get your ass in here and earn some of those brownie points.”

 

Jackson shuffled awkwardly from the doorway to the edge of the hospital bed. “This is stupid.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Danny corrected with a huff. “This is what people do at hospitals. That and prayer but we both know you’d rather do this than bend a knee.”

 

“He can’t even hear us,” Jackson muttered.

 

“You don’t know that,” Danny shot back irritably. “Look I’m sick of trying to talk you into doing the right thing here. So either stay and be a good friend or leave and continue trying to convince yourself that you don’t care about Stiles.”

 

Jackson’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t make a move for the door so Danny counted it as a win. He’d learned to take small victories with Jackson.

 

“What am I supposed to be doing anyway?”

 

“Talk to him. Talk about him,” Danny instructed calmly. “Just find a way to let him know you’re here. Don’t leave until you’ve let him know he’s not alone.”

 

“Um… okay.” Jackson shuffled close enough to smooth out the wrinkles on the top bed sheet though his fingers shied away from the sleeping form. “Hey, Stiles. Danny says you can hear us so… just in case you heard that stuff earlier… I really hope you wake up soon because I basically had to guarantee Coach a State Championship for him to put you on first line.” The Co-captain patted Stiles’ limp arm. “You’re welcome for that by the way.”

 

Danny’s expression was nothing less than incredulous. “Seriously?”

 

“What? It’s not as easy as it sounds!” Jackson replied sheepishly, pushing away from the bed to hover by the doorway once more. “You go if you’re so eager to fawn over him.”

 

“Fine. I will.”

 

The goalie pulled Stiles hand into his and gave it a friendly squeeze. He couldn’t help the disappointment when the pressure wasn’t returned. When he spoke Danny at least tried to make it sound as if he were smiling. “Everyone at school is making a big fuss over you, you know? Banners above the school steps and lots of get well cards around your locker. There was an article in the local paper talking about how the Sheriff has a hero for a son.” Danny felt a genuine smile take over. “Your Dad gave a little interview for it. He’s really proud of what you did at the diner. We all are.”

 

“I saw one of the hot cheerleaders stuffing a letter in your locker,” Jackson offered, having inched closer while Danny was filling Stiles in. “Even if I wasn’t a werewolf I would have smelled all that perfume on it.” His body shivered in disgust. “You’re gonna have to hose all your books down just to get rid of the smell.”

 

Danny smiled fondly at his friend. “They’re books, Jacks. You’re not supposed to get them wet.”

 

“They’re _school_ books, Danny,” Jackson shot back with a toothy grin. “You’re supposed to destroy them.”

 

“Heathen,” Danny grunted, doing his best Stiles impression.

 

Jackson chuckled. “You really do spend too much time with him. Derek’s going to get jealous and rip your arm off one day. Or worse try and mount you by accident.”

 

Danny waved off the concern. “Nah. Derek knows I’m his gay Yoda.”

 

“His _WHAT_?”

 

“Gay Yoda,” the goalie replied, fighting to keep the smile off his face.

 

Jackson’s eyes looked ready to burst out of his school. “Stop saying that like it makes sense. In fact stop saying that entirely.”

 

“Saying what?” Danny asked innocently.

 

“You know what.”

 

The tan teen faked a confused expression. “Clearly I don’t.”

 

“Thegayyodathing.”

 

“The what?”

 

Jackson growled, the vibrations low in his chest. “You heard me.”

 

“Nope,” Danny replied, pressing his luck. “Didn’t catch it. Say it again? A little slower this time.”

 

“Gay. Yoda.”

 

Danny held up the camera phone he’d slipped out of his jeans and ended the video recording. Jackson’s eyes started to glow as he realized he’d been caught on tape. “Calm down, Jacks. I’m only going to show Stiles when he wakes up.”

 

The mention of Stiles brought Jackson crashing back to reality. He looked down at the body between them as if he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten where they were. “Am I at least going to get the story behind it or do I have to wait for sleeping beauty to wake up?”

 

“It’s what Stiles called me when he and Derek first started circling each other,” Danny answered, a fond smile gracing his lips. “He said he’d read everything the internet had on being a gay teen and needed someone to be his ‘Gay Yoda’. If only I’d known Stiles would keep calling me that I would have hung up on him.”

 

“No you wouldn’t,” Jackson said quietly, as if suddenly afraid that Stiles really was listening in on their conversation. “You always had a soft spot for him. Even before Scott and I were turned.”

 

“I have a soft spot for everyone,” Danny said with a shrug.

 

“But especially for the problem cases, right?”

 

Danny gave his friend a pointed look. “They’re the ones who need it most, right?”

 

Jackson nodded once, avoiding the weight of his friends gaze by staring at Stiles’ relaxed features. “I remember.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every comment/kudos is worth 10 karmic brownie points :P


	6. Sweet Child Of Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally meant to be posted on Mother's Day but I didn't get to it in time. The chapter title is from the Guns N' Roses song of the same name.

Melissa McCall didn’t usually spend much time in ICU territory but lately it seemed as if her entire world revolved around that particular section of the hospital. More accurately, her life was focused on one patient on the ICU floor. Hers wasn’t the only focus drawn there and, frankly, she was much more concerned about the others who were constantly visiting the same patient. Not for the first time Melissa wondered how many classes her son and his friends skipped to make sure that Stiles was never alone during school hours.

 

Her routine hadn’t changed in the two weeks that Stiles had remained under her care. His was the first room that she visited on her rounds. Melissa would greet Stiles as soon as she was through the door, not caring if he couldn’t hear her or not. Next she would slide the curtains open enough so that the dawn light would brighten up the room. Letting the sunlight in would also work as a wake-up call for the Sheriff who had taken to sleeping in the rocking chair every night. Melissa would talk through Stiles’ stats with the Sheriff as she checked the machines and her patient’s vitals. After the Sheriff left for work, Melissa would plant a motherly kiss on Stiles’ forehead before leaving to check on her other patients.

 

She rarely went an hour before coming back to check on him again.

 

Which is how Melissa McCall was witness to just how much Stiles was loved and missed by his friends. She had caught the Sheriff sneaking in during his lunch breaks almost every day. She watched as the man went through his meals, removing the unhealthy bits and narrating the whole process. Sometimes Melissa swore she could see Stiles’ fingers twitch as if to snatch anything that wasn’t a vegetable or a fruit away and dispose of it.

 

It wasn’t rare for Melissa to find the teens there. Even at odd hours. She’d walked in on Danny reading to Stiles – usually Dr. Seuss – and been struck by how enthusiastically the goalie had taken to the different voices. Allison played music from Stiles’ iPod during her visits while she read articles on new techniques for bringing patients out of comas. Melissa had been forced to intervene whenever one of these suggestions – usually attempted by her nitwit of a son – would inevitably go wrong. The most recent of the “experiments” had been dumping a tub of ice cubes onto Stiles’ chest in an attempt to shock him out of the coma.

 

Jackson was most often spotted trying to sneak into the room to share dinner with Stiles. It wasn’t against the rules so Melissa let the teenager go on believing that he was getting away with it. It was Jackson’s business if he didn’t want his friends to know he was actually being nice to Stiles for once. Melissa hadn’t had the heart to ream out her own child for skipping lacrosse practice to help the Sheriff with Stiles’ grooming needs. Scott hadn’t even flinched when asked to help with the sponge baths – something most people would have gotten flustered and embarrassed over.

 

The only one of Stiles’ visitors Melissa had never walked in on was Derek Hale. Just because she never caught the older boy didn’t mean that she missed the evidence of his presence. The mattress was always dented on the left side from where Derek would join Stiles on the bed, snuggling into the comatose teenager. Fresh marks would be on Stiles’ skin – so fresh, in fact, that Melissa could still see the saliva just starting to dry. Perhaps the most telling evidence of Derek’s visits were the dark purple flowers that she would find tucked beneath Stiles’ pillow.

 

It was during one of these little check ups that Melissa found Lydia taking her break. At first the nurse assumed that the girl was going through her regular routine of gossiping with Stiles while perfecting her appearance in his bathroom mirror. It wasn’t until Melissa saw the tear tracks running down her face that she realized there was something more going on.

 

“Lydia, dear?” she asked, her motherly instincts kicking into high gear at the sight of a distraught teenager. “What’s wrong?”

 

Lydia shook her head, letting her strawberry curls block Melissa’s view of her face. “It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid.”

 

Melissa leaned against the bathroom door. It had taken several years of Scott’s teenage antics for her to perfect the “I’m-older-than-you-and-I-know-when-you’re-lying” look that was being reflected in the mirror. Lydia must have seen it because seconds later her shoulders were slumping and a piece of paper was being waved at the nurse. Melissa hesitated before taking the paper.

 

Her eyes widened as she read the header and the first paragraph. “Lydia… this is… Congratulations!”

 

Lydia’s pink sweater vibrated as she started to cry again.

 

“Honey?” Melissa tried again. “You got into college. That’s cause for tears of joy not whatever it is you’re doing now.”

 

“Not just any college,” Lydia replied, finally turning around. Her smile was so forced that it looked more like a grimace. “It’s MIT. It’s where I’ve always wanted to go.”

 

Melissa frowned. “Is this something to do with pack business? Scott keeps me out of most of that stuff but I thought Derek said you all were free to go where you wanted.”

 

Lydia nodded. “No, that’s true. It’s just… Stiles was the only one who knew I wanted to go so far away.” Her gaze drifted from Melissa to the sleeping form just steps behind her. “He was supposed to help me tell the others; to get them on board. He promised to throw a big party for me when I got in because lets face it _of course_ I was getting in.”

 

“You’re not upset about a party,” Melissa said knowingly.

 

“I know,” Lydia said bitterly. She snatched a dozen tissues out of the wall dispenser and started to viciously wipe away all the evidence of her pain. “Stiles should have woken up by now. He should be here… but he’s not. He’s going to die and I’m going to feel bad and it’s all his damn fault.”

 

Melissa sighed. “You can’t blame him – ”

 

“ – Yes I can!” Lydia shouted angrily. “He shouldn’t have been so stupidly heroic. He should have just cowered under his chair like everyone else.” Lydia’s nails lengthened into claws as she raved, slashing them down and cutting through the countertop like butter. “But, oh no, Stiles always has to prove himself; always has to get noticed! I wish he’d just stayed that clumsy little boy who was always staring at me and giving me his cookies during recess even though any _decent_ admirer would know I didn’t eat carbs!”

 

“Lydia…”

 

The girl let out a low keen of pain. “He should have kept his mouth shut at that dance and not said all those wonderful things about me – though I suppose Stiles always was bad at keeping his mouth closed for more than five seconds. But he had to stand out and prove that he really did know me; that he wasn’t just another pathetic teenager lusting after me.”

 

“Lydia…”

 

“If he’d just done that than I wouldn’t have noticed him! I wouldn’t have taken an interest or given him the time of day!” Lydia’s wolfish features receded back as she slumped down to the floor against the wall. She stared up at Melissa, her pain evident in her eyes. “He’s not that weird Stilinski kid anymore. He’s _Stiles_.”

 

Melissa crouched down to meet her gaze. “He’s going to wake up, Lydia. He’s going to wake up and be pissed that you didn’t go out and celebrate getting into MIT. Stiles wouldn’t want you to cry over him, Lydia. He loves you. Maybe it’s not the same way he did in middle school but he’s still the goofy kid who’s always in your corner. The one who sees right through whatever mask you’ve perfected and into the person you are deep down.”

 

Lydia rolled her eyes but the smile was genuine. “Way to sound like a bad after school special, Nurse McCall.”

 

“I do, don’t I?” Melissa mused, pleased to see Lydia returning to normal. “I used to be so cool. Sometimes I wonder where that all went.”

 

“You had Scott,” Lydia teased. “It would kill anyone’s cool factor to have to raise that boy.”

 

Melissa smiled. “I had help.”

 

Lydia’s brow creased in confusion. “I thought Mr. McCall was… you know… out of the picture most of the time?”

 

“I wasn’t talking about him,” Melissa replied cryptically, rising out of her crouch. She helped Lydia to her feet and the pair settled into the chairs next to Stiles’ hospital bed. “I meant Stiles. It’s true he was just as likely to get the pair of them into trouble than out of it but he was always there for Scott.” She patted Stiles’ hand before gripping it tightly. “He was there for both of us.”

 

“You were there for him, too,” Lydia pointed out, quietly. “Stiles told me how much you and Scott were around after his mom died.”

 

Melissa nodded, the memories of that gloomy time dancing behind her eyes. “Of course we were. His mother and I were already good friends. I was her nurse during the chemotherapy and our boys were best friends.” A stray tear found its way free and she quickly wiped it away with her other hand. “Stiles has always been a second son to me. He and Scott used to get so serious about it. They referred to themselves as brothers for a whole year – even to strangers! The Sheriff and I kept worrying about them pulling a _Parent Trap_ on us.”

 

Lydia chuckled lightly. “They still do that. It’s usually when they think no one’s listening though.”

 

“I bet they never really stopped,” Melissa theorized. “They just stopped saying it in front of us.” She gazed down at the limp body of the boy who’d meant so much to her family. “I don’t know why. The Sheriff and I didn’t mind. Not really.”

 

“Maybe when he wakes up you can tell him?” Lydia suggested as she fiddled with the acceptance letter. Her teeth nibbled gently on her bottom lip before sliding the letter under Stiles’ pillow. Her hand paused as she pulled back from the pillow, stroking the bare skin of his neck. “I think he’d like that.”

 

Melissa nodded her agreement. “When he wakes up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last filler chapter I can write and still have the story make chronological sense because Stiles HAS to wake up next time. So either I'll get the original chapters back or I'll have to re-write them. If it comes down to the latter, I'll probably start doing faster, little updates (think a scene a chapter) until it's all finished.
> 
> I've got a lot on my plate right now so it could be a bit of a wait. I think it'll be worth it though!
> 
> Don't forget to follow me on tumblr (moriartysminion.tumblr) for snippets, previews and progress reports on all of my stories :)


	7. I Want To Hold Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so I said to myself, “Self, you ridiculous individual, you, why not include Isaac, Erica and Boyd in the story? You have to rewrite the whole damn thing anyway. Plus you get another chapter out of it!”
> 
> So, after some deliberation with my tumblr peeps, it was decided that the unholy trinity would join us in Comatose!Stiles land.
> 
> Chapter title is from The Beatles.
> 
> It's also unbeta'd. Apologies for any errors.

It had been three hours since Erica had pulled into the driveway of the Hale House. She’d been looking forward to sleeping away the long drive in her room. Preferably without the company of either Isaac or Boyd. A month long trip to a werewolf pack in North Dakota that was an ally of the Beacon Hills Pack with her two fellow Betas was more than enough quality bonding time for her.

 

It had been two hours since she’d thrown Jackson through the kitchen window. Derek had been her first choice but the Alpha hadn’t been home at the time. Of course Danny had been there to fill them in about Stiles, too, but if Erica had thrown him through a window then his weak human body might not have recovered. Apparently their Pack already had one member in the hospital. She didn’t actually want another one there.

 

Jackson had been an acceptable target for her rage though. He would heal.

 

Erica hadn’t heard Boyd or Isaac leave. All she knew was that they weren’t at the house by the time she’d finished helping Jackson pick the glass shards out of his skin. Erica took her time after that. She spent a good thirty minutes in the shower just letting the scolding hot water cascade down her back. She trusted that one of the others would bring the luggage in from the car.

 

Erica went through her wardrobe fairly quickly. She fished out the low cut ensemble from the day Derek had sent her to distract Stiles. It always reminded her of Stiles and how he’d so pointedly avoided looking at the cleavage she’d been so desperate to show him. Even when Erica was trying to get him to notice her Stiles had found a way to not only avoid her but to do it like a gentleman. Her blood red fuck-me boots were at the back of the closet. Erica bypassed the make-up bag in favor of tugging her long blond hair into a bun so tight that it was beyond painful.

 

She dressed for war.

 

It must have shown because the hospital staff didn’t seem to know what to do with her sudden appearance. Half of them walked the other way and the rest looked ready to call security on her. Either way Erica kept her perfectly crafted bitch face on; her war paint as it were. It only faltered when she got her first look into Stiles’ room.

 

Stiles had never looked so frail. As long as Erica had known him he’d always been thin and sadly breakable – a fact Stiles had proven time and time again through clumsiness and a daredevil attitude. But this was a new level of vulnerable. The wolf inside her grew restless at the sight of the plastic tubes that seemed to sprout around his pale form like roots. Neither Erica nor her wolf felt comfortable leaving a pack mate so exposed.

 

“Erica?”

 

Scott’s voice had been no louder than a whisper from inside the hospital room but Erica could hear it through the glass as if he’d shouted. Her gaze moved from Stiles to meet Scott’s worried eyes. She could feel the comfort of being near her Head Beta through the thrum of power that linked them all. Erica made a pointed effort to shake off the link, closing herself off from it. Scott’s pained whine made it all the more worth it.

 

She let her eyes change color. “You should have called us.”

 

“We wanted to,” Scott continued in a whisper, trying not to wake Allison who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. “We just thought… we hoped he’d have woken up by the time you three were supposed to come home.”

 

She felt the irritation boiling under her skin. “So sorry we’re three days early. Hate to know we through off your precious schedule.”

 

Scott sighed. “We didn’t want you all to worry any earlier than you had to. Stiles would have – ”

 

“He belongs to us, too,” she told him loudly, opening the door and pressing into the room. Allison began to stir back to consciousness. “You had no right to shut us out. We’re supposed to be Pack.”

 

Scott frowned at her in confusion. “We are Pack.”

 

Erica crowded closer to him. Her nails turned into claws with the frustration thrumming through her veins. “We had a right to know.”

 

“We weren’t trying to keep you out of it,” Scott replied, his tone bordering on begging. “You have to know that. We were trying to protect you from this; from feeling this pain.”

 

Suddenly her eyes felt wet and her eyebrows heavier than normal. She blinked through the awkward sensation. “Wow,” she said, her voice thick with false-gratitude. “Thanks for that, Scott. I feel so protected… like it never happened at all.”

 

Scott had the good sense to look away. The scent of his shame was palpable in the air. It didn’t make her feel as good as she’d hoped it would. Erica pressed on regardless, hoping that ripping further into the hierarchy might earn her that emotional relief after all. “Don’t think Derek is getting a pass on this either.”

 

“He’s hurting, too,” Allison interjected, finally awake enough to break into the discussion between the wolves.

 

“I didn’t say I’d hurt him now,” Erica clarified. “Later. After Stiles is awake and kicking again. That’s when I’ll do it.”

 

Once more proving that she held the brains in the relationship, Allison made no move to talk Erica out of her revenge. The huntress even went so far as to slap a hand over Scott’s face which, judging by the outraged expression on his face, was about to object whole heartedly to her plan. Allison merely nodded her head towards the bed and the sleeping form inhabiting it.

 

“You should visit with him.” Allison moved her hand from her boyfriend’s mouth to his elbow and pulled him into a standing position with her. She offered Erica a tight-lipped smile as the pair passed her on their way to the hallway. “We’ll go to the cafeteria for some coffee and come back in a bit.”

 

Erica didn’t respond. She merely waited for the sound of the door closing behind them before moving at all. Still angry with Scott, she used her foot to kick Allison’s chair closer to the tiny bed. Erica hesitated a moment before perching on the empty space of the bed next to Stiles’ leg and setting her own feet on the chair.

 

She used the long nail of her pointer finger to gently caress Stiles from his ear to the center of his jaw.

 

“Hey, Batman.”

 

*

 

After Jackson and Danny had informed them about what had happened to Stiles, Boyd had abandoned all thoughts of sleep in favor of finding his Alpha. He hadn’t needed to use his enhanced scenting ability to find Derek. Besides the Hale House, Boyd couldn’t imagine the other werewolf being anywhere other than the hospital or keeping an eye on the person who put his mate there.

 

Sure enough Boyd found Derek in the alleyway across from the police station.

 

“You’re back early,” Derek noted in a weak greeting. His glowing red eyes never left the front of the building.

 

The lack of acknowledgment, expression and tone were all acceptable behavior in Boyd’s mind. He’d discovered over the years that he and Derek shared several qualities. It was a rare day – unless Stiles was the cause – that Derek let his emotions get the best of him. If Boyd had found his Alpha pacing or growling then he would have worried.

 

“We got home sick,” Boyd replied with a shrug.

 

“It was my decision not to tell you,” Derek admitted quietly but firmly. The pair ducked further into the protection of the shadows as an officer left the building and headed for the small parking lot. “If you’re upset with anyone then let it be me. The others, Lydia especially, thought that we should call but there was no point in dragging you all back here to just wait around with us.”

 

“It’s understandable.”

 

Derek looked surprised at the easy agreement before quickly masking the shock with his usual grumpy expression. “Good.”

 

Boyd smirked a little. “Erica might have a few words for you, though.”

 

“She can fucking deal with it,” Derek all but growled. “I’ve got larger concerns than her feelings being hurt.”

 

“And Isaac,” Boyd reminded him quietly. “You know how much he cares for Stiles.”

 

“I thought you weren’t here to call me out on the no phone call bullshit,” Derek replied angrily, sharp fangs gleaming in the night air.

 

The Beta flexed his considerable shoulder and arm muscles before leaning against the side of the building. “I’m not.”

 

Derek grunted irritably at the lack of response. Normally he enjoyed that the largest of his wolves was a strong but silent type but sometimes it was damned irritating. Stiles would have told him it was karmic justice for always brooding and never expressing anything. “Then why are you here?”

 

“I came because I knew what you were planning on doing.”

 

For the first time since Boyd’s arrival the tension in the air took on a dangerous tint. The relaxed position Boyd had taken was doing nothing to alleviate how Derek’s inner Alpha wolf was feeling threatened – challenged even. That Boyd had thought to track him down to the police station spoke volumes about just how much the Beta suspected of Derek’s violent plans for vengeance.

 

“And just what do you think I’m planning?” Derek asked, a subtle warning interwoven in the tone of his question.

 

The sides of Boyd’s lips curved slightly as if his Alpha had made some sort of joke. “The Sheriff is keeping the guy who shot Stiles in one of the cells, right?”

 

Derek shrugged. “So.”

 

“So you want to know what I think you’re planning on doing when the Sheriff eventually has to transfer the guy who nearly killed your mate to a real prison?” Boyd asked as if doubting Derek’s sanity. “You know Scott’s the one with the low test scores, right?”

 

Derek’s eyes flickered to meet his briefly before returning to their original target. “I hope you know better than to try and stop me.”

 

Boyd nodded before moving to stand next to the Alpha. He made sure their positioning matched as they stood side-by-side, so close that their elbows brushed lightly. Even their shoulders seemed to pair up. Two vengeful sentinels on a mission. “I’m not here to stop you.”

 

“I’m going to kill him,” Derek muttered, clearly not believing Boyd despite the physical display of allegiance. “And it won’t be quick either. The Sheriff will know it was me but I won’t be leaving any evidence behind.” His chest heaved slightly at the vehemence of the words. “There won’t be any of _him_ left to find.”

 

“I’m here to help,” Boyd said with a shrug.

 

The glow of Derek’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Not going to try and talk me out of it?”

 

“Is that what the others did?”

 

“Yes.” Derek chuckled darkly. “As if I was going to forgive him because the man was desperate or starving or homeless.”

 

Boyd inclined his head enough to bare his throat. “I’m sure the hunters will agree with you. The man hurt an Alpha’s mate. They can’t expect that to go unpunished.”

 

Creases formed on Derek’s brow at the lack of passion in Boyd’s words. The sentiment was in line with Derek’s thoughts but the lack of inflection had him doubting just how much his Beta agreed with what he was saying. “Exactly.”

 

“And the others will just have to understand,” Boyd continued after the heavy silence had dragged on another few minutes. “They might not like the heat it brings down on us but they’ll get over it. The wolves inside them will help them come to terms with it.”

 

Derek eyed the other wolf skeptically. “I suppose so.”

 

Boyd chuckled as if he’d just thought of a clever joke. “And it’s not like Stiles is here to stop us either.”

 

The growl of an enraged Alpha echoed off the cement walls of the buildings and bounced around the paved alleyway. Boyd quickly found himself airborne. His body was launched down the length of the alleyway before colliding (and heavily denting) a commercial dumpster at the other end. At the mouth of the alley, Derek was more wolf than human.

 

“Stiles will be fine!” The Alpha growled, voice barely recognizable as human.

 

Boyd shook his head. “If you thought that then you wouldn’t be planning on killing the guy. You know Stiles would stop you if he could.”

 

Derek barely managed to stifle a literal howl of rage. The effort made his voice sound even more like his throat had been stuffed with gravel. “You’re underestimating Stiles’ cold bloodedness.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Boyd replied, struggling against the pain spreading along his spine to reach a sitting position. “I remember how he was always more willing to kill to eliminate a threat than Scott was. They’re still that way.”

 

“Then how can you say he wouldn’t want me to do this?” Derek roared.

 

“Because you’ve forgotten that Stiles only justified killing if it _protected_ the Pack,” Boyd replied calmly enough. He couldn’t have managed a yell if he’d tried – not with the fatigue he was feeling. “Killing that man doesn’t protect us or Stiles, Derek. It only gives you an outlet for your rage.” His tone softened slightly as he thought of what revenge had done to people like Derek’s Uncle and Allison’s grandfather. Boyd let the memories flash through the link between them. “Stiles wouldn’t want you to risk it.”

 

Derek pushed the images away. “He’ll understand. You all will.”

 

“Stiles told me that it was the humans in a Pack that kept us from becoming monsters,” Boyd called out to the other wolf, trying to stop his Alpha from leaving the alley and making the biggest mistake of his life. “He said that was why we were all ‘douchebags with rabies’ at the beginning. It wasn’t until Stiles and Danny and Allison that we really learned to control ourselves.”

 

“What’s your point?”

 

Boyd tried to take Derek’s presence at his side and not the end of the alley as a sign that the man was listening to reason. “That you’re all wolf right now without him. That you wouldn’t do this if you had your human side back.”

 

Derek’s lips pulled back in a snarl. He raised a claw to point at the station. “That _thing_ in there took my humanity when he took Stiles from me. Don’t you think he deserves to reap the fucking rewards of his actions?”

 

“And what will we reap, Derek?” Boyd questioned, his wolf curling up in submission and fear at the feral look in his Alpha’s eye.

 

They both flinched at the loud, electronic _PING_ from Boyd’s cell phone. A second later and they could hear Derek’s phone vibrating away in his leather jacket. Boyd waited for Derek’s looming form to back away before even thinking about reaching for his phone. Derek let his phone continue to vibrate in favor of watching the Sheriff’s station once more.

 

Boyd figured they were getting the same message anyway and that his Alpha was waiting to get the information from his Beta. He wasn’t disappointed. As soon as Boyd had read the text message and locked the screen Derek had moved back into his personal space.

 

“What do they want?”

 

“Scott wants us all back at the hospital.”

 

Derek’s head snapped around to stare at Boyd. “Is it Stiles? Did he…”

 

Boyd shook his head. “Apparently Isaac spoke with Dr. Deaton and now he thinks he knows how to wake Stiles up. They want us all to meet at the hospital.”

 

“I’ll drive.”

 

*

 

After hearing the news about Stiles, Isaac had gone straight to Dr. Deaton. Over the years he and the veterinarian had gotten closer. Scott had gotten him a job there the summer after sophomore year. It was during that blissfully turmoil free summer that Isaac had discovered he had a real talent when it came to taking pain away from the injured pets and wildlife. So much so that Dr. Deaton had started training him how to do more and more with his ability.

 

Unfortunately that pain-stealing touch wouldn’t be enough to save Stiles. Not on its own.

 

But Isaac had suspected for a long time that there was more to the healing power than what Dr. Deaton had implied. Every time Isaac had touched an injured animal he’d felt a branch of power connecting them. It was oddly similar to the way the Bond between the pack members felt when they ran on the full moon. It was through that connection that Isaac was able to pull the pain from the animal and into himself.

 

His suspicions were proven correct after a pointed interrogation of Dr. Deaton. The man had warned Isaac that it was dangerous to take more on more than just the pain of the being that he was trying to help. It was a deadly enough proposition that Dr. Deaton had promised himself never to teach Isaac how to do it properly. In Isaac’s mind the risks were worth the rewards.

 

“Don’t you think we already tried that?” Scott demanded, his exhaustion getting the better of him. “I’ve been siphoning off his pain since he got put in here, dude. It didn’t even make a blip on the monitors. At best it just saved the hospital some money on the anesthesia.”

 

“This is different,” Isaac explained patiently. “We wouldn’t just be absorbing his pain, Scott. We’d be taking on his injuries as well and having our wolves heal it.”

 

The room went still at the implication. It was an odd sight since they’d all been in constant motion since Isaac had asked Scott to gather everyone together in Stiles’ hospital room. His fellow pack members had fidgeted as Isaac did his best to explain himself. Even the humans in the room – which now included the Sheriff and Scott’s mother – were having trouble keeping still.

 

The skin on Allison’s forehead creased as she played through Isaac’s words once more. “Not to state the obvious but doesn’t that risk you and Scott falling into comas as well?”

 

Isaac nodded. “Which is why we won’t be able to take on _all_ of his injuries. Just the ones most likely to be keeping him unconscious.” He paused before adding on, “And it won’t be just Scott and I. For this to work it will take the whole pack working together.”

 

Jackson was shaking his head even as Isaac was finishing his thought. “But the rest of us have never even tried to take pain on before. How are we supposed to be able to do this?”

 

“It’s instinct,” Scott answered for Isaac. “Believe me, once you’re touching Stiles your wolf will know what to do.”

 

“Especially for an injured member of the pack,” Isaac continued the explanation. “That’s the only time this works. If it was for a stranger we wouldn’t be able to help them. The Bond that ties us all together is what will power the healing. It’s just strong enough to siphon out some injuries along with the pain.”

 

“Like bandwidth,” Danny muttered. “You can carry more data at once when you’re all working together.”

 

Isaac offered him a small smile. “Now you’re getting it.”

 

“You said it won’t heal everything?” the Sheriff pointed out, his wrinkled fingers rubbing nervously against one another. “Does that mean he might still have the… the brain damage?”

 

“The way Dr. Deaton tells it there’s no way of knowing what the Bond will draw out.” Isaac glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eye. “But if it’s anything like how the Bite works then most likely that damage won’t be healed. It’ll be up to Stiles to work through it at human speed.”

 

Melissa McCall put a comforting hand on the Sheriff’s arm. “In a way it’s for the best. A lot of people around the hospital would ask too many questions if Stiles were to wake up unscathed.”

 

Lydia nodded in agreement. “If what I hear in the cafeteria these day is any indication, the whole town is starting to notice the weird stuff that’s been going on.” She tilted her head pointedly at the prone form at the center of their meeting. “They’d definitely notice him just walking out on his own after being in a coma for a little over two weeks.”

 

“Is there anything we can do?” Allison asked. “The humans, I mean. I know we don’t have the healing powers or anything but there has to be something we can do.”

 

“There is,” Isaac answered, his expression sobering quickly. “We won’t know which of us will take on which injury. Chances are Scott and I will take the brunt of it but there’s always the possibility of one of the others being incapacitated.” He let the warning sink in. “If one of us collapses we’ll need the humans to keep us from hitting the floor, obviously, but even more important is maintaining our physical connection to Stiles. The whole thing falls apart if even one person lets go before we’re done.”

 

Derek quickly got to his feet. “Well what are we waiting for?”

 

Isaac smiled proudly at his pack mates. Not two years ago they’d never have been able to pull something like this off. None of them would have even shown up, too mistrusting of the others’ motives to really accomplish anything so important. Stiles had been a large part of bringing them all together.

 

They had all been broken in some way or another. It was that characteristic that had drawn Derek to them in the first place. Isaac with his abusive father and a family that had died on him. Erica with her illness and hopeless struggling to be defined as more than the girl who pissed herself on that internet video. Boyd with his weight problem and social insecurities that had driven him to exile himself. No one could argue that Derek hadn’t been damaged by his ‘relationship’ with Kate Argent and the mass of casualties that resulted from it.

 

Scott had his abandonment issues thanks to his deadbeat father and daily reminders that he just wasn’t as intelligent as the rest of the kids his age. Allison suffered from the constant relocations that stemmed from her family’s dark secrets. Jackson was still his own worse enemy when it came to crippling self-hatred and insecurity. Lydia feared her inner bookworm ever becoming publicly recognized and the social downfall that might occur after. Danny appeared the most well adjusted but there was a reason he had started dating so many older men at such a young age.

 

The adults in the room were no better off. Both had been on the path to happiness before life’s cruelty had struck. Melissa had been forced into the role of single parent and left to raise a child who kept wondering why his father could leave him so easily. The Sheriff had lost his wife – the love of his life – and been partnered with an ADHD riddled child who ended up having a penchant for getting into trouble.

 

They were all broken toys. But it was Stiles that had helped glue them together. It was Stiles with his movie nights and self-sacrifice that had stitched them into a cohesive mass. He took the special bits from one and used it to replace a design flaw in another. Lydia and Danny’s brainpower kept Scott from failing his classes. Stiles’ unstoppable word vomit filled the overwhelming silence of Boyd, Isaac and even Derek’s internal monologues of fear, pain and loss. Derek’s strength emboldened Erica’s self-confidence (granted not always to positive outcomes).

 

But more than anything the open, festering wound of loneliness had been filled by a sense of family. A family of choice and not blood obligation. A family that protected and cared for one another. A family that knew when to push and, more importantly, when to let things slide. A family willing to risk everything for the sake of one pack member who – despite all the healing he’d brought out in the others – was the most broken of all.

 

Now it was their turn to return the favor.

 

Melissa closed the blinds to give them some privacy. The Sheriff and Scott adjusted the thin gown covering Stiles up so that only his groin was hidden from view. Dr. Deaton had said that as much skin to skin contact provided, the better the results would be. Jackson and Boyd moved the extra furniture out of the way. Isaac still found it an unsettling experience to be the one dictating orders to the rest of his pack. He was usually much more comfortable receiving them.

 

Isaac climbed onto the bed and placed Stiles’ head in his lap for easier access. Scott and Derek took up positions on either side of Stiles’ chest. Lydia and Erica hovered over Stiles’ abdomen. Jackson and Boyd each found themselves above one of Stiles’ pale legs. Allison and the Sheriff stood behind the wolves on the left side of the bed. Mrs. McCall and Danny mirrored them on the right hand side.

 

There was a sharp intake of air from Scott’s mother as the werewolves in the room let their true nature dominate their forms. The woman had long ago come to terms with what her son had been forced to become but every once in awhile they managed to surprise her with it. Apparently their synchronized transformation had done it for her this time. She offered him a sheepish look of apology before motioning Isaac to continue.

 

Isaac carefully placed his claws along the sides of Stiles’ head. The rest followed his example soon after, making sure to press just hard enough to maintain contact but not with too much force that might cause Stiles further injury. It only took a second before lines of black ooze wormed their way from Stiles body up Isaac and Scott’s arms.

 

“Don’t let go,” Isaac reminded them all. His stern expression was pointedly aimed in Jackson’s direction whose surprise at the appearance of the black lines had nearly caused him pull back. “No matter what you have to hold on.”

 

Derek arms were soon crawling with the black sickness. After a few minutes of intense concentration the girls were sporting similar signs of success. It took some more coaching from Isaac and Scott but eventually all of the werewolves were draining Stiles of his various injuries. For the first time not under a full moon they could all feel the power of their Bond surging between them.

 

To Isaac it provided a sense of euphoria and wild emotional abandon that had tears falling from his eyes. It wasn’t like the first time Scott and Dr. Deaton had allowed him to heal that sick puppy. This was an enhanced version that projected the undercurrent of unity, safety and love which made up the Bond between them all. To be able to finally share this with his family was beyond wondrous.

 

Erica’s pained groans ripped that all away. Isaac’s eyes snapped open and he stared at his friend in horror as blood soaked the front of her t-shirt. The Sheriff pushed his elbows under Erica’s armpits just before she lost the ability to hold herself up. Allison pushed forward to hold Erica’s claws in place.

 

“What’s happening?” Allison asked, casting worried looks over her shoulder to the blood pooling under Erica’s breasts.

 

“She got the bullet wound,” Isaac explained.

 

It continued to go down hill from there. Scott got so dizzy from simulated blood loss that they had to very carefully sit him in one of the free chairs without displacing his hands on Stiles’ shoulder and chest. Lydia was crying through the searing pain in her hands that Stiles must have felt when clutching the recently fired gun. Next to her, Mrs. McCall held an oxygen mask over Boyd’s face to keep his lungs pumping oxygen just as one of the machines had been forced to do for Stiles.

 

“How much longer?” Derek asked. His forehead was slick with sweat from the strain of putting up with whatever invisible pain had been absorbed into his body.

 

“I don’t know,” Isaac struggled to get out through clenched teeth. Erica hadn’t been the only one to experience a gun shot to the stomach. Luckily their wolves were keeping them going or they would have passed out long ago. As it was Danny’s muscles arms were crossed over Isaac’s chest in order to keep him from collapsing right onto Stiles.

 

Mrs. McCall’s head appeared between Lydia and Boyd’s bodies. “His vitals are still improving. Just a little bit more.”

 

“Can’t make that any more specific?” Jackson moaned.

 

In the end ‘a little bit more’ was 22 minutes. In that time the machine working as surrogate lungs for Stiles had turned itself off as the real organs came back online. The electronic beats of Stiles’ heart pumped a little bit faster until it was nearly back to the distinctive chirping the werewolves had learned to detect from miles away. Scott had smiled as Stiles’ lips twitched with unheard murmurs.

 

22 minutes and the Bond surged to life with renewed vigor.

 

22 minutes and Stiles flashed them all his distinctive honey-brown eyes.

 

22 minutes and the Pack was whole once again.


	8. Open Your Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Unfortunately you can expect more in the future. 
> 
> Apologies if this feels a little off from the rest of the story. I would spend more time trying to fix it but it’s already been so long since I updated that I figured you wouldn’t mind. It was harder than I thought it would be to try and capture Stiles’ essence again after telling the story from alternating POVs for so long. Especially a pre-Sophomore year Stiles.
> 
> Title credit for the chapter title goes to Snow Patrol. It’s one of their best songs IMO.
> 
> Not beta-read, as usual.

It really wasn’t Stiles’ fault if he mistook reality for a nightmare. Sure he no longer felt as if he was being sucked through a tube but that was the only positive. The world had turned painfully solid as his limbs experienced gravity once more. Not even the cushion of the hospital mattress was of comfort. The pain that had only been coming in flashes of consciousness before was now constant and widespread. The rips in his skin felt freshly torn, his stomach was a solid ball of painful knots, and his lungs screamed in agony with every desperate intake of air.

 

But it wasn’t until Stiles finally pried open his eyelids and took a look around at the big, bad world that he was truly terrified. In his defense he was not expecting to see a crowd of shadowy figures hovering over him; one of them was even in the bed with him. Stiles’ slight panic blossomed into full-blown fear as he realized his visitors were bleeding. The veins in their arms, neck and face were stained black like the monsters out of one of those horror movies his Dad never let him watch after dark. The final piece of their terrifying tableau were the warm, happy smiles they were offering him in complete contrast to their zombie features.

 

Stiles’ screams were swallowed by a thick tube that someone had rammed down his throat. Rude.

 

All of a sudden he was choking on a plastic tube that he’d completely overlooked. Stiles flailed only to cry out at the pain of moving his limbs. Hands clamped down all over him with impossible strength as if they’d been pre-positioned to stop his thrashing. Tears flooded Stiles’ eyes before tumbling over the sides of his face and down his cheeks. The bloodied face of the figure whose lap Stiles’ head was cradled in loomed ever closer, their fingers forcing his neck to stay put with bruising force.

 

“Stiles? Stiles, don’t struggle, sweetheart,” a familiar voice cooed. “I’m going to get it off your face but you’ve got to stop moving.” Hands prodded the device around his mouth. With every second that passed the voice grew more emotional in their desperation. “Just one more minute, Stiles. Please relax.”

 

That one-minute felt like ages of agony to Stiles but he did his best to hold still. Pain erupted into existence along his throat with every inch the tube was pulled out of. His jaw ached, clicking noisily as Stiles opened and closed it rapidly in the void left behind. Stiles tried to talk, to scream, to moan in relief but all that came out was an inhuman screech that could only be a combination of raw throat and unused vocal chords.

 

Someone – not Stiles – whimpered at the sound.

 

A new voice from somewhere on his left quietly asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

 

“Probably dehydrated.”

 

“And he hasn’t spoken in weeks.”

 

Someone sniffled near Stiles’ feet. His head spun, dizzy with effort of trying to keep up with which of the bloodied figures was speaking and from where.

 

“I’ll get him some water,” A feminine voice muttered as a pair of hands detached from Stiles’ waist.

 

“Ice chips!” the familiar voice corrected, the evil plastic breathing tube held precariously in their hands.

 

Stiles grimaced through the pain of leaving his jaw and forced himself to suck down as much air as possible. His lungs and stomach burned as they expanded and contracted quickly but Stiles feared that slowing down would cause him to pass out. The threat of a panic attack boiled to the surface and flooded his body. Black spots started clouding his vision returning the strangers to their former status as blurred figures.

 

The shadows around his bed shuffled so that the largest one was closest to his head. Stiles blinked up at the spot where he thought the person’s head was. His breaths were growing more painful and his vision began to spin.

 

Calloused hands clumsily petted Stiles’ sweaty forehead. It would have been sweet if the man hadn’t chosen to speak too. “Stop that. It’s hurting you.”

 

Stiles wanted to laugh. He probably would’ve done it if he wasn’t so sure it would rip his insides into bloody little pieces... or bloodier pieces if his stomach looked half as bad as it felt. It was just so ridiculous how the man with the gruff voice sounded personally offended, as if the pain Stiles was in was some big imposition on _him_.

 

He offered up a garbled reply that failed to convey either his sarcasm or his irritation. Which was probably for the best because the large figure’s eyes were glowing red. Blood red. Stiles flinched backwards into his human pillow and completely lost the battle against hyperventilating. Creepy, glowing eyes will do that.

 

“Get back, Derek! You’re scaring him.”

 

Stiles’ eyes roamed over the sea of bleeding monsters desperate to find his father. The man sounded pissed and protective. Stiles had never liked hearing that tone because it usually meant he was grounded for jumping off the roof or something equally dangerous but that was fine. Stiles would take pissed-off-Sheriff over no-Sheriff-in-a-room-full-of-nightmare-creatures any day of the week.

 

Sensing his son’s distress, the Sheriff shoved his way through the crowd to take up the position opposite the big blur with the red eyes. Or at least Stiles hoped it was his father that was holding his hand. It was a little hard to tell what with the crying in pain and the way the world was tilted sideways but it felt like a familiar blur next to him.

 

“Just breathe, son.” If Stiles’ eyes watered just a little more at the wounded quality in his father’s voice than that was his own little secret. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here and you’re awake now. That’s all that matters.”

 

Stiles wanted to argue that the pain was pretty important but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. He hoped that clinging to his father’s hand – weak as Stiles’ grip was at the moment – would convey his feelings. Stiles felt a little bit of the pain leave him as the Sheriff squeezed back lightly.

 

“Here you go, Stiles.”

 

An ice chip rubbed against his mouth. The freezing liquid did wonders for moistening Stiles’ severely chapped lips and relieving his pain. He had a hard time not moaning at the sensation. He opened his mouth just wide enough for a dainty hand to push the ice chip into his mouth. Stiles sucked on the chip eagerly, swallowing the melting substance and relishing in the cool trail it took down his throat towards his stomach. In short, it was heaven.

 

He was so wrapped up in the instant relief that he nearly missed the frantic conversation going on around him.

 

“It’s not my fault!” the blurry goddess with the ice chips snapped over her shoulder at the others.

 

“You couldn’t get ice chips without alerting the hospital that Stiles was awake?” Someone from the right side of the bed practically growled. “It was that difficult?”

 

Ice-chip blur huffed indignantly. “They’re already figuring it out. You think these machines just take his readings and hold on to them? No. They send the info to the nurses’ station. Which is why we need to hurry up and stop arguing because they’ll be coming to check on him any minute!”

 

“We’re on the visitor’s list,” Stiles’ human pillow protested.

 

“Yeah but we’re also covered in our own blood,” a second girl, whose blurry clothes looked extra gory, pointed out.

 

Red-eyed blur straightened up and started forcibly dragging his fellow blurs away from the bed. Stiles couldn’t be sure but it looked like some of the blurs were getting naked and switching clothes. Several of them stopped by his bed one last time to whisper promises of a return visit or just to touch him briefly before disappearing out of the room and into the hallway beyond.

 

It wasn’t until his human pillow removed himself from the bed that Stiles finally passed out. The sounds of his father and the red-eyed blur calling his name were the last things that he heard before the darkness swallowed him whole.

 

*

 

They’re all still there the next time he wakes up.

 

Everything remains hazy but Stiles feels a little more alert than the first time. He’s not sure how much time has passed since then and now but it’s definitely been at least a day. The people in the room are in different clothes than before. But what is most noticeable is the distinct lack of blood and black veins.

 

He really wants to ask if the gore was real or imagined but there are several men in doctor’s coats checking him over and quietly pointing things out on his chart. And Stiles knows that if there’s one person you don’t want to ask about hallucinations in front of, it’s people with the power to get you admitted to a psych ward. Stiles really did _not_ want to end up as the unfortunate protagonist in a Lifetime Original Movie.

 

Stiles goes to open his mouth and demand to know why there are so many people in his room but Mrs. McCall quickly shoves an ice chip between his lips. The irritated glare Stiles sends her way is met with a stern, motherly glower that should have upset him but instead makes him feel all warm and loved on the inside. It’s not the first time since he’s woken up that Stiles has tried to talk – he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t at least try and be a one man debate team – nor the first time Scott’s mother had warned him not to irritate his vocal chords.

 

The first time he’d tried it had sounded like a trash compactor turning on.

 

And the long list of questions building up inside Stiles was making it impossible to keep quiet. Especially when everyone kept smiling at him or offering him thumbs up. THE Lydia Martin even gave him a hug and if he didn’t find out why in the next ten minutes than Stiles was going to just start screeching all his questions no matter how much damage he might do to his throat.

 

Because if he’s done something to get Lydia Martin’s affections than he needs to know about it ASAP. So that he can repeat it again and again. It wouldn’t surprise Stiles if it wasn’t some stupid stunt where he’d declared his undying love for the red haired goddess that had landed him in the hospital.

 

_So worth it,_ Stiles thinks as he catches Lydia smiling at him again. He cheerily waves at her until it’s gone on long enough to be awkward and she’s forced to wave back. The confused looks that Scott exchanges with that douche bag Jackson (who Stiles thinks is the next likely reason he’s waking up in a hospital) and the others whose faces he can’t quite place make him drop his hand back to his side.

 

The tall, dark and broody guy sulking in the corner frowns even harder. Which Stiles finds pretty damn impressive since the guy was already single handedly bringing the cheer factor in the room down about ten notches.

 

Mrs. McCall finally clears her throat to catch the gaggle of doctors’ attention. Stiles could have kissed her – if that wouldn’t make things really awkward with Scott… or his mother… or the Sheriff. Yeah, Stiles was just going to go ahead and cross that off the list of appropriate gestures of appreciation.

 

“I think the patient is coherent enough for his exam,” the nurse added with a pointed glance at the hospital bed.

 

“Perhaps we should clear the room?” the white coat in the middle suggested with an overly bright smile.

 

Mr. Broody in the leather jacket squashed said suggestion by simply planting his legs firmly under him and narrowing his eyes at the smaller man. Stiles raised an eyebrow at Scott, confused at why the big, scary dude he’d never met before was running the show. The answering frown from Scott did little to settle him. Even more confusing was the way the Sheriff merely rolled his eyes at the display and gestured for the doctors to continue.

 

“It’s nice to have you back with us, Mr. Stilinski,” the center doctor continued as he put himself on the opposite side of the bed from the dude decked out in leather. “We’re going to run a few basic tests but we’re going to ask that you not speak when giving your answers. A simple nod for ‘yes’ and shake of the head for ‘no’ will be fine.”

 

The shortest doctor gently pushed forward on Stiles’ shoulder and started using his stethoscope along his back. Stiles quickly got used to the cold of the metal pressing along his bare flesh. Every few minutes he would ask him to breath in or out. Stiles didn’t quite manage to hold back a blush as the gown was peeled away, exposing his naked top to the room.

 

Thankfully his main doctor started asking the questions off his chart. Stiles distracted himself in a mix of nods and shakes as the other two doctors continued to poke and prod at him.

 

_Can you feel this?_

_Does this hurt?_

_How about now?_

_On a scale of 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?_

_Use your fingers to count, Mr. Stilinski._

_Stiles Stilinski! That is not the finger you show your doctors!_

 

*

 

They find out pretty quickly that he can’t move his legs.

 

He can feel the cold metal of prod they use to check sensation. He can feel the pain from the sharp edge they prick him with. The pressure as they press fingers into his skin even feels right.

 

But he still can’t make his legs move.

 

The doctors all trip over each other to reassure him that it’s most likely temporary. The annoying white coat in the middle gives a big spiel about how coma patients can experience sluggish messages being sent from his brain to his nervous system. Mrs. McCall rushes off to secure some lab time for him so that even more doctors can check him over and confirm the diagnosis. She comes back with some pamphlets on physical therapy programs for the Sheriff.

 

Stiles feels totally justified in the panic attack that follows the grim declaration. He tunes out the rest of conversation in favor of channeling his inner Uma Thurman to try and “wiggle his big toe”. He does it so long that a steady ache builds behind his eyes and eventually erupts in a full-blown migraine. The best he could manage was a slight tremor along his left thigh that made his knee wobble.

 

It’s not until the blonde girl in the corner starts sniffling that Stiles remembers he’s getting all this news in front of a crowd. Scott is gripping the guardrail on the side of the bed so hard that Stiles could swear the metal starts to cave in on itself if he didn’t know his asthmatic best friend were actually a weakling. And either the heater in the corner is on the fritz or his visitors are growling their displeasure under their breaths.

 

Literally. Growling.

 

Stiles chooses to fixate on their odd behavior because his only other option is to look at his Dad. It was bad enough being able to tell his father is tearing up using only his peripheral vision. Stiles _really_ didn’t need a clearer image to be reminded of the last time his father had cried next to a hospital bed. He can still picture the way his father had broken down next to his mother’s pale form.

 

Inspired by his mother’s strength under similar circumstances, Stiles sets out to be the strong one. It’s a role he’s been forced to play before in order to keep his Dad from falling into the abyss of depression and raging alcoholism. What was one more time really? Stiles could always wait until all these people finally left him alone to properly break down.

 

His hands were shaking as he picked up the miniature white board and expo marker Nurse McCall had left at his bedside. Stiles isn’t quite sure if that was another nerve-issue acting up or just his regular nerves. He pops the cap and ignores the way the whole room comes to a halt and stares at him in anticipation. It’s ridiculous but just as Stiles set marker tip to white board he’s suddenly not sure which question to ask first.

 

He wants to know more about why his central nervous system is apparently on holiday but doesn’t want to push his Dad. He wants to know when he can go home and leave the annoying doctors alone. He wants to know who the hell the people in his room are. He wants to know how long he was asleep because either Scott started taking steroids or Stiles has been unconscious long enough for Scott to get stupidly attractive.

 

Eventually Stiles shoves the cap in his mouth and scribbles out a sloppy, _What happened to me?_

 

It should be a safe question. It should be easy to answer. Instead the room freezes for the second time that day. The doctors are the only ones who don’t look concerned. His Dad and Scott’s mom exchange nervous glances. The other teenagers in the room all look to the Biker Dude for direction. A few minutes pass and no one says anything.

 

Stiles uses the marker as a weapon and starts tapping it against the puny whiteboard with increasing force until the noise becomes an overwhelming irritation. He even underlines and circles the question for emphasis.

 

“There was a shooting,” his Dad answers, the words coming out croaky with emotion. “You tackled the gunman. You were… hurt.”

 

The marker cap falls out of his gaping mouth. Stiles manages to point at his chest, the surprise on his face making his question even more clear than just writing it down.

 

Scott manages a weak chuckle at the sight. “Yeah, dude. You were a genuine hero.”

 

“My Dad’s going to give you an award when you finally get out of this shit hole,” Jackson adds. His comment earns him the unhappy glares of the hospital staff in the room. Only Mrs. McCall seems unaffected by the description.

 

Stiles furrows his brow in confusion. Last he knew Jackson’s dad was a big shot lawyer and not endowed with award-giving powers. Stiles is all set to write a message questioning just that (and possibly a poorly disguised condemnation of how much power the Whittemore’s really have in the town) when Lydia pulls Jackson closer to her side. Stiles tracks the way their bodies lock together from shoulder to knee and feels a different kind of pain slice through his chest. The idea of even _thinking_ about Jackson for one second further pisses him off enough that he puts off the question.

 

_Did anyone else get hurt?_ He writes instead.

 

His father shakes his head in answer. A proud little smile plays at the man’s lips. “Unless you count the perp.”

 

“Your dad did a real number on him,” the blonde girl says as if the idea of the town Sheriff using excessive force were Christmas come early.

 

“He shouldn’t have shot my son,” his father says with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

 

There’s something familiar about the blonde to Stiles – like maybe they’d actually met before – but whatever sparks his memory dies as soon as she flashes a predatory grin at him. It could even count as a leer with the wink she tacks on as she counters with, “I would have done much worse.”

 

“Someone still could do more,” the leather clad gorilla grunts. There’s a flash of something dangerous in his eyes that has Stiles leaning back against his pillows.

 

Scott’s mom clears her throat before nodding her head at the trio of doctors shuffling nervously next to his hospital bed. The big guy doesn’t look very contrite but he does turn slightly so that his glare is aimed at the bathroom door and not the other people in the room. Stiles wonders how long it will take for the door to catch fire with that kind of heat being focused on it.

 

_What happens now?_ Stiles writes before realizing it might count as an opportunity for the boring doctor to go on another monologue. He quickly crosses out the question and writes another right below it.

 

_How long until I can get back home? To school?_

 

Whittemore rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a nerd, Stilinski. Enjoy the excuse to skip all the easy classes and jump straight to graduation.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with taking academics seriously,” Lydia interjects, pinching her apparent boyfriend so hard that he grimaced. “Not everyone has lacrosse scholarships to fall back on.”

 

_Or trust funds,_ Stiles thinks to himself barely resisting the urge to actually write it down.

 

_Not that you care but I doubt I’ll be here until senior year,_ Stiles writes instead. He doodles out a closed fist with a middle finger sticking up before flipping it around so that the side of the room without adults on it could see. He flashes Scott a conspiratorial grin and waits for the double thumbs up his partner-in-crime usually gives him after insulting Jackson.

 

Only Scott doesn’t give him said thumbs up. Instead his face takes on the same pinched look that he usually saves for pop quizzes he’s about to fail. Jackson frowns. Lydia’s lips flex into a frown as she stalks forward and snatches the clipboard from him and shoves it in the faces of the doctors. He can’t see what her expression is but all three of the physicians assigned to him take a step back.

 

Stiles tries not to blush as Lydia sits on the edge of his bed and takes his hand between hers. He fails.

 

“Stiles do you know what grade you’re in?” she asks. Her face is all business with him. There’s nothing gentle or comforting from her tone. Apparently holding his hand was enough polite bedside manner in her book. He uses his free hand to motion for the whiteboard back but she slaps it away. “Just nod when I say the correct one okay?”

 

“Are you a senior?”

 

“A junior?”

 

“A sophomore?”

 

Stiles nods.

 

Lydia doesn’t react but everyone else seems to. Stiles tries to look around and figure out what the commotion is all about but Lydia holds him by his chin. She smiles kindly at him and Stiles feels the terror grip him for the first time. Lydia hadn’t given him pity when it came to his defective legs but suddenly she was treating him as if he were glass.

 

She points to his father. “You know who that is?”

 

Stiles rolls his eyes and nods.

 

“And crooked-jaw over there?” Lydia asks.

 

He expects Scott to look indignant but his friend looks nervous now. Stiles nods and watches as Scott slumps back in his seat, the relief clear on his face. It’s then that Stiles starts to get a good idea of what the redhead is getting at. Lydia must read his expression and know that he’s on the same page because she jumps to the punchline.

 

“Is there anyone in this room that you don’t know?” she asks slowly.

 

Stiles instantly points to the doctors. He knows it’s childish because he is not stupid. He knows what she’s really asking. Luckily for him Lydia decides that pinching the soft flesh beside his elbow is punishment enough. Stiles hands his head, knowing he’s been caught and that there’s no point in putting off the inevitable.

 

He lifts his head and locks eyes with the older guy in leather. Stiles can’t help but feel bad as the flash of devastation in the man’s expression as he realizes why Stiles is looking at him without any hint of recognition. Stiles avoids eye contact with him after that before pointing at the trio flanking the man. The curly haired boy actually lets out a whimper at being included in the list. Then he adds the slender girl holding hands with Scott and everyone starts getting emotional again.

 

The Sheriff has a death grip on his shoulder that is sure to bruise but it’s the strain in his voice that leaves Stiles feeling wounded. “He has amnesia?”

 

Melissa steps up before the doctors can answer. “It’s not uncommon after… after what he’s been through, John.”

 

“We’ll run tests,” the center doctor says before taking the excuse to flee the room. The other two doctors ran after him. A few minutes later and the leather-clad dude leaves in a huff. The large black boy smiles at Stiles before chasing after him. Melissa finally catches on to the exhaustion Stiles has been trying to conceal and kicks the rest of them out.

 

His dad shifts his grip to the hand that Lydia had finally relinquished. His eyes are red and wet with unshed tears that has Stiles choking up himself. “It’ll be okay, son. We’ll get through this.”

 

Stiles nods and tries to look more optimistic than he feels.

 

So much for not starring in a Lifetime movie.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also participating in the Sterek Campaign's Fanfiction Auction (which ends tonight at midnight!) for anyone interested in having me write up to 10,000 words of fic for them based on the prompt of their choice. It's for a great charity and I will pretty much write whatever you'd like so definitely check it out.
> 
> Go here to bid: sterekcampaign(dot)livejournal(dot)com(slash)14184(dot)html(pound)comments


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